a spanner in the works, you know
by acid.glue234
Summary: When they say their goodbyes in the parking lot, Brittany's expecting a goodnight kiss, because if this woman was her soulmate, she'd totally just plant one on her without a second thought.
1. Chapter 1

With a steady finger, she traces the rim of her coffee mug, slowly and thoughtfully.

"...Britt..."

She hears something soft in the back of her mind. It's calling to her. Calling. Calling.

She stops tracing her cup.

"Brittany..."

That voice; someone's singing to her. Teasing her? They're trying to get her attention, maybe.

"You're coffee is getting cold."

"No it's not," she responds offhandedly; it's an immediate answer. Her coffee is still hot. She knows this because of the steam, the heat of the moisture rising from her cup.

"I'm just trying to get your attention," Quinn sighs, the corners of her lips twitching upward as she takes a sip of her tea.

Brittany blinks. "You have my attention."

Quinn shakes her head; she knows when she's being ignored. "I've been sitting here calling your name for five minutes now."

A tired shrug bounces off Brittany's shoulders. "I wasn't ignoring you," she insists, continuing to trace the rim of her cup; around and around we go. "I thought it was something else speaking to me."

Quinn considers this. "Should I be worried?"

"No," Brittany answers, cracking a smile at the table. "I'm fine."

Quinn still thinks she should be worried. She studies her best friend carefully. "You met someone," she guesses, her eyes widening at the smirk on pink lips.

Brittany giggles to herself, but it's one of those _you couldn't be more off _giggles. "I did meet someone," she confesses, "But then I lost them."

Quinn's shoulders deflate. Brittany has an knack for losing things, but this kind of thing is a different kind of thing.

Brittany's one of _those _people.

(She's one of those people who believe everyone is born at a certain point and time in space where the stars and planets align perfectly in the atmosphere, where unicorns and angels make a pact that each and every person on this earth have someone just for them, where anything is possible as long as you ignore all the bad shit in the world and only pay attention to the good shit, because the good shit is what's important.

It's the good shit that's going to get you places in life, because if you spend all of your time thinking about the bad shit, you'll just end up alone and sad and depressed. But, if you pay attention and believe in all the good shit that people swear is a myth, like unicorns and love and fairytales, then you'll end up just like Brittany, who's alone, sure, but she still believes in the good shit, and that's what keeps her going.)

Brittany blows on her coffee and stares at it. "Quinn," she begins, leaning forward on her elbow. "I'm twenty-eight years old." She turned twenty-eight about five months ago, but today, for some reason, it's really starting to kick in.

(She's one of those people who believe in romance and serendipity and love at first sight and fate and hope and soul mates and all that fancy, good shit. Sure, she's probably wasting her time, but as long as you have the good shit, nothing can go wrong. At least, that's what she thinks.)

Quinn nods in confusion. "I know," she responds softly, her eyes dipping in concern. "So am I."

"But you're married and you have kids. So it's different," Brittany sighs, lowering her head the more and more depressed she feels. "I'm running out of time. My eggs and uterus are going to dry up into nothingness soon."

"There's always adoption." She's only half-joking.

Brittany stares forward in contemplation. "That takes too long. And I want a spouse and my own little baby."

"Then take my advice," Quinn begins, sitting up straight in her seat. She licks her lips and re-stacks the sugar packets on the table.

Brittany continues to stare and wait, because surely this advice ought to be compelling if it's coming from none other than Quinn Fabray.

Quinn takes another moment to bite the inside of her cheek and flip her blonde hair to the side. Her hair just flips back in front of her eyes anyway, like a boomerang, so she blows it out of her face with pursed lips. Her hair flies up in the air before floating back into her hazel eyes and-

"Quinn," Brittany calls, knitting her eyebrows. "Advice."

"Oh, right," Quinn laughs to herself and tucks the unruly strand of hair behind her ear. "Look at that door." She points to the entrance of the coffee shop where tired people shuffle in and out every now and then.

"I'm looking," Brittany says, waiting patiently.

"Your soulmate isn't going to walk through those doors, get down on one knee and ask for your hand in marriage."

"Duh..." Brittany waves this off with a giggle. "Because that's ridiculous."

"Ridiculous?" Quinn leans forward, pursing her lips challengingly. "Your soulmate isn't going to walk in here with a cute puppy, drop a unicorn keychain in front of you while whistling _Oops I Did It Again_ either-"

"Maybe not today."

"Maybe not ever," Quinn adds. "Sam and I sure didn't meet like that."

"I'm not like you and Sam. And soul mates exist, I know it." Brittany sips on her coffee thoughtfully. "My soulmate is going to find me."

"Why can't you go out and find them?"

Squeezing the bridge of her nose, Brittany shakes her head and says, "Because that's not how it works."

"Please," Quinn scoffs, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "Tell me how it works."

Brittany cocks her head to the side. "Love, it's..." she trails off with a wistful smile. "It's...you can't force it or it'll end up all wrong."

"Like," Quinn presses her lips together. "In what way?"

"A bunch of ways. There's too many to name," Brittany exasperates, ripping open a sugar packet and pouring it into her lukewarm cup. "Soul mates can't meet off of eHarmony or dates set up by their friends. They meet by chance. And that's what makes it romantic."

Quinn narrows her eyes skeptically, yet she doesn't say anything. If Brittany wants to wait around her whole life for something that doesn't exist, what is she suppose to say?

But on the other hand...

Quinn sighs; Brittany's her best friend. And no matter how much she should let her handle her own shit, she can't. She just can't.

"So, you don't like dates set up by your friends?" Quinn asks, just to make sure.

Brittany nods. "That's right."

"What if it's set up by your _best _friend?"

"Same difference."

Quinn hums under her breath, tapping her fingers on the table. "What if I said I know this drop dead gorgeous woman who works on the same floor as me?"

Brittany smirks knowingly and shrugs a shoulder. "Then I'd say you have a pretty nice view."

"I do," Quinn agrees. "And you could too."

"Unless this woman walks in at this very moment and trips into my lap, she's off limits."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Quinn teases, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "If she were to fall into your lap and dance around a little bit. All nice and slow-like."

Brittany thinks she's just entered the twilight zone. "Shut up, Q."

Quinn smiles. "You know," she begins thoughtfully, eyeing the customers on line waiting for their order. "The more I consider it, the more I think you two would look great together."

Brittany shakes her head and rips open another sugar packet before adding it to her cup; she's not going to crack under the pressure.

"Her name's Santana."

"Don't care."

"We worked on a case together last year."

"Don't care."

"She's really witty when it comes to the courtroom," Quinn recalls with a smirk. "Other than that, she's pretty shy."

"Don't care."

"Sometimes, when we all go out for lunch, she tags along. But she's usually always quiet and keeps to herself," Quinn tells her, folding her hands on top of the table. "It's kinda cute in a mysterious way."

"Quinn," Brittany huffs, pushing away from the table and grabbing her bag. "She sounds awesome, really. Like, the most awesome person ever-"

"She's smart, too."

"Then maybe you should date her," Brittany suggests, quickly standing up from her seat.

"I have a picture of her," Quinn calls after the blonde, grabbing her stuff as well and following Brittany out of the coffee shop.

Brittany stops short, Quinn almost bumping into her. She turns on her friend with a quirked eyebrow. "What are you, a stalker now?"

Quinn shrugs. "We're friends on Facebook."

Brittany rolls her eyes and keeps walking. "I know that look in your eyes, Quinn. And my answer is no."

"No?"

"Don't play dumb. That's my job," Brittany says, adjusting her bag on her other shoulder. "If the universe wants me to meet this Santana person, then we'll meet. End of discussion."

Quinn raises an eyebrow and falls back a step. Street walkers continue to push their way past her, but Quinn comes to a slow stop and considers her friend's retreating form.

"Well then, I guess my new name is universe."

* * *

"Hello?" Brittany answers her phone, expecting it to be her very needy boss.

_"Um, is this Brittany?" _

Except, it's not her boss.

Brittany arches a brow, balancing a bag of clothing in her hand and her boss' coffee order in the other while holding her cellphone between her ear and shoulder.

"Who wants to know?" She thinks it's a valid response. It could be the CIA calling her for all she knows.

_"Quinn gave me this number," _the woman on the other line rushes to say, her raspy voice a little shaky. _"We work together?"_

Brittany leans her weight to the left as she pauses in the lobby of her building. "You don't seem so sure," she teases, taking a sip of her boss' drink and forgetting it's her boss' drink in the process.

The woman laughs; it sounds like a musical about charcoal. (That's how Brittany would describe it, at least.)

_"I'm not actually," _she says with a nervous chuckle. There's a short pause, some shuffling in the background, and then, _"Look, I never do the blind date thing. Like, ever. But Quinn showed me a picture of you, and I have to say, I totally do the blonde date thing."_

Brittany's eyebrows meet her hairline. She smiles in amusement at the woman's cheesiness as she continues to walk, almost forgetting she's suppose to be at work right about now. Her boss is going to kill her. Especially since she just drank most of her latte.

"I'm sorry, who is this again?" Brittany asks in a high-pitched tone, entering an elevator and watching as the silver doors close.

_"Santana,"_ the woman says, clearing her throat awkwardly. _"Quinn didn't tell you about me?"_

Brittany knits her eyebrows together in confusion until it hits her like a ton of bricks. And not the plushy soft kind her sister's children play with when she babysits them.

"Santana," she repeats in a monotone, watching blankly as the numbers in the elevator go up. "Oh..."

She didn't mean to sound so bored and uninterested, but she totally recalls telling Quinn to drop the Santana thing about a week ago. It seems Quinn didn't drop it. Instead, she lifted it. Right on top of Brittany's head. Then dropped it.

_"I'm going to kill Quinn," _she hears muttered into the phone, along with some other unintelligible expletives about what Santana wants to do to Quinn.

(And no, they're not sexual.)

"Violence is not the answer," Brittany says as she steps out of the elevator. All she receives is silence in response, and she wonders if Santana is still there until she hears the woman breathing through the line. "Anyway, I do know who you are. Kinda. Quinn said you're cute in a mysterious way. That's about all I know."

There's more silence.

Again, all Brittany can hear is some mouth breathing coming from the speaker. Seriously, is this woman Darth Vader or something?

Momentarily forgetting she's on the phone, Brittany winks in Kurt's direction as she passes the reception desk and heads toward her boss' office.

_"So, yeah," _Santana mumbles eventually; Brittany almost forgot she was on the phone. _"About that date I'm totally not desperate for..."_

"Oh, I-"

_"That was a joke. I wasn't being sarcastic," _Santana blurts out, trying not to sound too hopeless, and Brittany snorts into her hand once she drops the bag of clothing on her boss' couch. "So, dinner and a movie? Friday?"

Brittany pouts; this woman sounds so hopeful. The last thing she wants to do is shoot her down for no particular reason. But this set up goes against everything she's ever believed about fate and soul mates.

If Santana doesn't kill her first, Quinn is so dead.

"I think I'm gonna have to get back to you," Brittany mumbles unsurely, biting her thumbnail and wincing in the process. Her blue eyes bounce around her boss' empty office for a worthy excuse. "It's just...work and everything. I never know what time I get off. I mean, my schedule is crazy. And my boss thinks I'm a robot, so-"

"I heard that."

Rachel enters her office and grabs her coffee cup from off the desk. She stares at the Styrofoam cup; it's oddly light for a full cup of coffee.

"Whoops! Speak of the devil," Brittany feigns surprised, averting her eyes when Rachel takes a sip of her coffee and comes up empty. "I gotta go, but I'll definitely get back to you later."

"Okay, that's cool," Santana says, her voice a little higher than before as she tries not to sound too defeated. Brittany frowns at the sad tone and hopes it's not her who caused it, which more than likely it probably is. "It was nice talking to you, Brittany."

"Likewise," Brittany says easily, still ignoring Rachel's annoyed looks from the corner of her eye. "Bye."

She hangs up before she hears a response, knowing the longer she stays on the phone, the more irritated Rachel becomes.

Standing up from the couch and holding the bag of clothes out to Rachel, Brittany smiles and says, "Morning, boss lady."

"Coffee."

"Will do."

* * *

"Sometimes, I pick up my cat and pretend he's Simba from The Lion King."

"Do you sing the song?"

Brittany rakes her teeth over her bottom lip. "What song?"

"Nants ingonyama bagithi baba," Kurt sings offhandedly, placing a piece of paper under the copy machine.

Brittany squints her eyes in confusion as she messes with a stapler. "I don't know what you're talking about, Kurt."

"Welcome to my world."

Brittany sighs, loud and forlorn. She leans against the wall, looks up at the ceiling and crosses her arms. "Do you think I'm wasting my time believing in fate?"

Kurt gasps, grabbing a stack of papers and walking out of the copy room. "Of course not."

"Quinn thinks I am," Brittany informs him, following Kurt past the offices and back to his desk.

"I'm pretty sure something crawled up Quinn's ass a long time ago and died there."

Brittany thinks about this for a moment. "That's gross," she deadpans, leaning over Kurt's desk with a pout. "Quinn's trying to set me up on a date."

"Oh, I think that's wonderful," Kurt admits, sitting daintily in his swivel chair. "Maybe it'll get you away from that cat of yours."

"There's nothing wrong with Lord Tubbington."

"I didn't say there was something wrong with him. _You _on the other hand..." He trails off, buffing his nails against his jacket. Brittany sends him a look; Kurt fabulously ignores it. "All I'm saying is one date wouldn't hurt."

"But, but..." Brittany tries to reason, but comes up with no reasons. "What about serendipity and fate?"

Kurt looks at his laptop screen in thought, watching Brittany from the corner of his eye as she chews on the edges of her hair. That's definitely going to cause split ends.

"Well," he begins, crossing his legs and looking up at the blonde. "Look on the bright side. Maybe it's fate that this woman works with Quinn. If Quinn didn't know her, then the two of you could never meet in the first place."

"Quinn's known her for over a year," Brittany points out, sitting on the edge of Kurt's desk. "They've worked together on cases and stuff. Basically, she's just some random woman Quinn's setting me up with. No one special."

"I think we're all special in our own way."

"Like Lord Tubbington," Brittany nods in agreement.

"Actually," Kurt murmurs, narrowing his eyes on his colleague. "I was thinking more along the lines of humans."

"It's not cool to leave species out, Kurt. That's hurtful."

Kurt shuts his laptop to give Brittany his full attention because he's pretty sure he just lost whatever topic they're on now. "So, are you going on this date or not?"

Brittany sucks in her lips and thinks. The woman did seem really nice over the phone; albeit a little bit nervous and boring, and definitely not soulmate worthy, but Brittany's twenty-eight for fuck's sake; if she doesn't get married soon, she's a total loser and her mom and older sister will never let her live it down.

"Yeah," Brittany sighs, shrugging a careless shoulder. "I guess I'm going on the damn date."

* * *

She goes on the damn date, but not before punching Quinn in the boob for putting her in this position in the first place.

To start things off, her date is late to dinner, which, to Brittany, is already strike one. Her soulmate would have definitely been on time.

The restaurant Santana picked out for their date isn't one Brittany would've chosen herself. She understands Santana's just trying to impress her, but as she looks down at the menu, all she can do is squint her eyes in confusion, because she's never learned French. Or any other languages for that matter.

"Hi..." A low, raspy voice startles her from behind. "You must be Brittany."

Brittany turns her head and stands up to greet her date, but as she's getting out of her seat, she almost falls right back down, because _damn_, Quinn said this woman was drop dead gorgeous, but she never said how drop dead.

"That's me," Brittany says once she's standing up straight. "And you must be Santana."

Santana nods awkwardly, shifting her eyes back and forth from Brittany's body to her face. Brittany has to admit, Santana's anxiety over this date is maybe a little adorable. Chuckling nervously, Santana tugs her dress down. "You look nice," she says sweetly, gesturing to Brittany's outfit.

"Thanks." Brittany smiles, flattered. "And you're totally wearing that dress like a model."

(To be honest, it looks like her gay male best friend dressed her for this occasion going by the amount of cleavage popping out, but not everyone works for a fashion company like she does, so Brittany can't really judge.)

Offering the beautiful woman a smile to calm her down, Brittany goes in for a hug, but the whole movement just makes things even more awkward when Santana thrusts her hand forward at the same time and ends up karate chopping Brittany in the stomach.

Santana utters an apology, her whole face blushing red, if that's even possible with her skin tone. Brittany waves it off with a smile as they take their seats across from each other.

If Brittany thought their greeting was awkward, then the rest of the date is just plain uncomfortable. Santana isn't a pervert or a social outcast or anything, but everything after the karate chop seems to go wrong, from awkward silences to bad jokes to confusing sarcasm to spilled drinks.

And it's such a shame too, because Brittany can tell the woman's trying really hard to impress and charm her. Maybe even too hard at times.

Since Brittany can't read the menu, which she easily admits to, Santana takes it upon herself to order for them both. When the food arrives, it smells amazing, but maybe Brittany should have mentioned she's allergic to paprika, because after her first bite, she can't breathe correctly for the rest of the night and opts out of going to the movie part of the date in favor of seeing a doctor instead.

When they say their goodbyes in the parking lot, Brittany's expecting a goodnight kiss, because if this woman was her soulmate, she'd totally just plant one on her without a second thought.

Brittany's always loved kissing anyway, so she totally wouldn't mind a nice kiss at the end of a date, but instead, Santana kind of just nervously hovers in front of her with a lopsided smile, her eyes shifting around the parking lot at everything but Brittany.

Brittany would probably think her breath wreaks or something, but that's impossible, because she barely ate anything in the first place.

Right when she gets her hopes up and it looks like Santana's leaning in for that kiss she's been waiting for, the woman trips over a pebble on the ground, barrels into Brittany's shoulder, and almost sends them both to their doom.

If it wasn't for Brittany's strength and equally good balance, they'd both be heading to the emergency room by now, but luckily, Brittany catches Santana at the last minute and steadies her before giving the woman a light peck on the cheek. Brittany smiles at the way her date's face heats up, finding it a bit endearing, but overall, she hopes this night can just be over now.

But that would just be too easy.

"I had a really great time tonight," Santana tells her, tugging her dress down again; it seems to be a nervous habit. Either that, or she's just not used to wearing dresses; she's probably more of a dress pants or leggings type of gal. "Maybe we can do this again sometime?"

Brittany has to clench her jaw tight in order to keep in a sigh of exasperation, because was she the only one who noticed how disastrous this date was? She has a wet lap from spilled wine and a sore throat from her allergic reaction as proof.

(Sure, this hasn't exactly been the worse date of her life; she's dated a lot of douches in the past who made her pay at the end of the night.)

Although Santana's not very smooth, her jokes are trivial and hard to understand, and she's clumsier than a toddler learning how to take their first steps, she's really sweet, has a beautiful smile, good intentions, and is absolutely drop dead gorgeous. The only problem is that she's not Brittany's soulmate, and that just won't do.

"Tonight was...interesting," Brittany settles on, smiling hesitantly at the hopeful glow in Santana's brown eyes. She's never exactly been good at letting people down, choosing to be blunt and just get it over with, but Brittany can't stand to see this woman sad for some reason, so instead of telling the truth and saying _this date sucked_, she says, "You're really sweet, Santana, and funny when I can understand what you're talking about..."

(Let's land this plane nice and easy. Nice and easy.)

"But I don't think we should do this again," Brittany concludes gently, toeing the ground as if she's squishing a bug. "I'd totally love it if we could be friends though."

The look on Santana's face is nothing what Brittany expects to see. Instead of anger or sadness or confusion, Santana just nods in understanding with a small smile before saying, "Friends sounds nice."

Brittany would be lying if she said she wasn't taken aback by this response, but she lets it go in favor of hugging Santana, and surprisingly, the hug is actually a success; no snagging of fabric, karate chopping or tripping this time.

They bid each other fair well after the hug and go their separate ways. When Brittany sits behind her steering wheel, she lets out a sigh of relief and whispers, "Thank god that's over."

* * *

"Was it _that _bad?" Quinn asks in disbelief, scratching the side of her shaggy hair as they jog through the park.

"She was fifteen minutes late, punched me in the stomach, spilled wine on my dress, fed me paprika, and tried to tackle me to the ground in the parking lot," Brittany huffs out all in one breath, slowing down to stretch on a wooden bench. "Yeah, I'd say it was pretty bad."

"She was probably just nervous," Quinn plops tiredly against the park bench and takes a swig of her water. "You can be pretty intimidating, B."

"Intimidating?" Pulling out her earphones, Brittany puts her iPod on pause and gives Quinn an incredulous look. "I'm the nicest person alive. Just ask Kurt."

Quinn rolls her eyes, leaning forward to stretch out her hamstring. "I know you, B, and you were probably looking for all the negatives the moment the date started."

"That's _so _not true," Brittany insists, snatching the water bottle out of Quinn's hand. "I noticed a bunch of nice stuff about Santana."

"Name three."

"She has a very nice smile. Her hair is incredibly shiny," Brittany lists off her fingers, her hip cocked to the side haughtily. "And her eyelashes are super duper long."

"Britt," Quinn huffs, leaning her elbows on her thighs and peering up at her naïve friend. "Not just physical appearances. I meant more along the lines of personality or what she likes to do. Actually, I happen to know Santana's really funny."

"I couldn't understand her jokes," Brittany admits, wiping a film of sweat off her forehead with her forearm. "All I know is that she seems really bitter about her grandma. Most of the jokes were focused on her."

"Well," Quinn sighs, shrugging her shoulders, because what is she suppose to say to that? "Is that _all _you guys talked about last night? Her _grandma_?"

Brittany takes a seat next to Quinn and leans against the armrest. "She mentioned some law stuff I didn't quite get," she mentions offhandedly, scrolling through the workout playlist on her iPod. "Oh, and her favorite singer is some dude named Eddie James or something."

"Etta James?"

"Yeah, that's it," Brittany nods in remembrance, blatantly ignoring Quinn's eye roll. "See, this just proves we're not meant for each other. Santana was really sweet and everything, but she met none of my soulmate requirements. The universe just wasn't in our fav-"

Brittany's words get caught off and she freezes when the sound of whistling catches her attention. Quinn gives her a weird look and asks her something, but Brittany shuts her out and stands up, her eyes darting around the small park suspiciously.

It's still early in the morning; there aren't many people out here other than some runners and folks walking their dogs, so when Brittany _really _concentrates and hears the clear sound of someone whistling her favorite Britney Spears tune, she stops everything she's doing in favor of finding this person who's pulling on her heartstrings.

After another moment of searching and ignoring Quinn as the shorter blonde tries to get her attention, Brittany finally discovers where the whistling is coming from. The sound gets louder and louder as the person singing through pursed lips approaches. To Brittany, it sounds like a beautiful bird serenading her on a Sunday morning, but when Brittany's blue eyes meet brown, all she can do is stop and stare.

The woman she just saw not even eight hours ago continues to whistle as she walks past their bench, her attention more on the cute little Beagle tugging on the end of her leash than her surroundings. And if that doesn't throw Brittany for a loop and have her questioning the universe's motives, the unicorn dog-tag hooked around the puppy's collar sure does.

Standing next to Brittany, Quinn looks after the brunette as she continues to whistle obliviously. "Was that..." she trails off unsurely, pointing a finger down the path.

"Santana," Brittany whispers under her breath, staring after the woman and even taking a few slow steps in the direction she just went.

"The universe has spoken," Quinn mutters, slapping Brittany hard on the shoulder to snap her friend out of the daze she's in, but it doesn't work.

Her blue eyes continue to follow after Santana until she's out of sight, a lopsided smile forming on her pink lips.

* * *

**Should I write more?**


	2. Chapter 2

Brittany stalks Santana's Facebook page.

(She couldn't help it. Don't judge her.)

She's not sure what she looking for exactly, or if she's even looking for anything in the first place, but after seeing Santana the day after their disastrous date, Brittany just wants to make sure she's making the right decision in asking her out again.

Scrolling through her page, Brittany discovers the woman has a lot of friends for such a shy person - many more than Brittany, at least - and the blonde can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

And unlike Brittany's albums, which consist of mostly family and Lord Tubbington, Santana's pictures are of friends and partying and alcohol and more friends.

(Damn, she wishes her life was that interesting.)

And from what she can tell, it seems Santana has three brothers, which she can kind of understand going by the childish topics Santana talked about the other night, from sports to Family Guy to sports to comic books.

Did she mention sports?

(Unfortunately, those topics of discussion didn't really interest Brittany and almost had her snoring.)

To Brittany's liking, Santana also showed her intellectual side a bit, expressing her love for reading, music, and art, but sadly, most of the smart things she said went right over Brittany's head.

"Whatcha lookin' at?"

She slams the laptop shut and closes her eyes painfully. "Damn, Quinn," Brittany breathes out, clutching at her chest. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

Quinn plops on the couch next to Brittany with a bowl of popcorn. "I leave for one second and you're already watching porn?"

"Don't say porn," Brittany whispers, glancing around the room hesitantly. "Jamie might hear you."

Quinn shakes her head as she throws a piece of popcorn into her mouth. "Jamie's in the other room watching Spongebob," she tells her, raising an eyebrow at Brittany's awkwardness. "Really? Porn?"

"I wasn't watching porn," Brittany exasperates with a roll of her eyes, because _sheesh_, she wasn't.

Quinn nods; that slow, _I don't believe a word you're saying _nod. "Okay, I guess you wouldn't mind if I checked my email then?" she says, snatching the laptop out of Brittany's hands.

Brittany uses all of her strength to pull it back and toss the laptop under her butt so Quinn can't get to it.

"Britt, I don't want your dirty ass all over my Mac."

Brittany pouts. "My ass isn't dirty."

Quinn pushes the bowl of popcorn aside. "I don't care if you were watching porn, Britt," she laughs, sitting cross-legged on the couch. "We used to watch it together all the time, remember?"

(Oh, yeah, Brittany remembers all right.)

Biting her upper lip, Brittany shuffles on top of the laptop and murmurs, "I was looking at something else." She scratches the side of her head with a shrug. "Technically, it's just research."

She doesn't know why she's being so awkward over trolling Santana's Facebook. It's just, Quinn has a habit of rubbing it in whenever she's right, and Brittany hates being wrong more than anything in the world.

Quinn knows she shouldn't indulge her. "Research?"

(She indulges.)

Letting out a heavy sigh, because it seems the jig is up, Brittany pulls Quinn's laptop out from under her _dirty ass _and hands it over with a well-placed eye roll.

Quinn eyes the laptop for a moment, stuck between scared and intrigued to see what her friend was _researching _exactly, because if the past is any indication, she'll settle for never knowing at all.

Ultimately, her curiosity gets the best of her and she flips the laptop open before punching in her password.

The first thing Quinn does when she sees what Brittany was _researching _is give herself an imaginary pat on the back - she knew it, she just knew it - before breaking out into a wide grin and looking Brittany's way.

"Shut up."

"I didn't even say anything."

"It's written all over your stupid face."

"Oh, so..." Quinn begins, holding back the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Just because you were wrong, my face is stupid now?"

"Exactly."

"Going by the history page," Quinn begins, still smiling as she looks back at the computer screen. "You don't think _Santana's _face is stupid. Did you scroll through every single one of her pictures?"

"She really should put her page on private," is Brittany's only response as she shrugs a shoulder.

"You haven't friend requested her yet?" Quinn asks, her eyebrows lifting incredulously. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

Brittany shrugs and looks away, but she can still see Quinn looking at her from the corner of her eye, waiting for a response. Brittany doesn't have one, so she shrugs again.

Sighing through her nose, Quinn shakes her head. "Okay, here's the deal," she starts, sliding the laptop aside. "If you send her a friend request and she doesn't answer in five days, then you have to call her up and ask her out."

Brittany opens her mouth to argue, but Quinn cuts her off.

"But," she continues, looking at her friend pointedly. "If she answers by tomorrow morning, you have to personally come to the practice and ask her out face to face."

"And what do I get out of this?" Brittany grumbles, hugging a throw pillow to her chest.

"Um, I don't know," Quinn mumbles sarcastically, her eyes on the ceiling. "How about a date with your soulmate?"

"I never said she was my soulmate," Brittany murmurs, staring stubbornly at the paused movie screen. "Just because some of the signs were there, doesn't mean I want to marry her."

Quinn opens her mouth to protest, but this time it's Brittany who cuts her off.

"And," she continues, lifting her hands to casually tighten her ponytail. "Just because I think she's super hot, doesn't take away the fact our date truly sucked the other night."

"I still don't think it was as bad as you're letting on," Quinn mentions, continuing to scroll through Santana's Facebook page unabashedly.

"I went to the doctor this morning to get my throat checked out," Brittany points out, quirking an eyebrow. "I've _never _had to see the doctor after a date. It was _that _bad, Quinn."

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn waves her off, leaning forward to grab her phone from off the coffee table. "Chill out. It's not like you're going to get hit by a car the next time you two go out on a date."

"You never know for sure what can hap-"

"All of this superstitious stuff is really getting out of hand, Britt," Quinn scoffs, shaking her head sadly as she types at her phone. "I'm not saying fate doesn't exist, but it's definitely holding you back."

Brittany stares down at her fingers and flexes them tensely. She'd really give anything to hit something out of frustration right now, but Sam would probably be pissed if she tore apart another one of their throw pillows.

"You want to find _the one_ so bad?" Quinn asks, her hazel eyes narrowed on Brittany as she tucks a leg under her body. "Go out and find them. To a bar or a party or _something_. All you do is wake up, go to work, hang out with Jamie and I until Sam gets home, and then walk back to your empty apartment."

Sighing through her nose, Brittany averts her eyes to the wall which holds multiple pictures of Quinn, Jamie and Sam, grinning wide and looking as happy as can be. She cracks a small smile, wondering when it'll be her turn, wondering if Quinn is right about her life becoming extremely boring, wondering if...

(Just wondering.)

"Honestly, Britt, it's more exhausting to watch than actually live through," Quinn's continues to ramble on, unaware of her friend's conflicted emotions. "Waiting around has turned your life into a consistent mess. You have become a consistent mess, Britt."

(A consistent mess? Brittany thinks it's the most beautiful oxymoron she's ever heard.)

Quinn's right. Brittany knows it, but no matter how many times those words echo in her head, she just can't admit it to herself. Sure, she doesn't exactly go out clubbing anymore, and yeah, maybe she forgot how to have fun a few years back, but that doesn't make her a consistent mess...does it?

"Don't be a wuss, B," Quinn tells her, tossing the iPhone across the couch and into Brittany's hands. "Just call her to say what's up."

Brittany's eyes widen, because what? "What?" she squeaks, tossing the phone back. "Right now? No way."

"You told her you wanna be friends," Quinn reminds her, throwing the phone into Brittany's lap like a hot potato. "Some friend you are."

"You're her friend too," Brittany points out, "_You _call her."

"What? Why would I call her?" Quinn questions, dipping her eyebrows in confusion. "She's _your _soulmate."

"Again, not my soulmate."

"Jesus," Quinn groans, snatching the phone out of Brittany's lap. "If you're both going to be this shy, I'm gonna end up the only one in this relationship."

"Quinn? _Quinn_," Brittany calls out nervously, her eyes widening as the shorter blonde scrolls through her contacts. "Quinn, what are you doing?"

Before she gets a chance to snatch the phone back, Quinn has it up to her ear with this playfully evil gleam in her eyes. "Hello? Santana?" Quinn singsongs, winking in Brittany's direction. "It's Quinn. From work."

Brittany covers her face with her hands.

(This isn't happening. This isn't happening.)

"Oh, I'm good. Was just working on the Jones vs. New York case earlier today, actually..." Quinn smiles at the mortified expression on Brittany's face as she leans back on the couch comfortably and stretches out her back. "Yeah, how about you? Heard the date didn't go too well the other night."

(This isn't happening. This isn't happening.)

Brittany pinches her lips together and makes the international _I'm going to cut your neck off when we're alone_ sign.

Quinn ignores the threat and hums in understanding, nodding her head. "Yeah, I totally get it," she whispers into the speaker, tugging the phone away when Brittany tries to slap it out of her hand. "Everybody has a bad day. That's what I've been trying to tell Britt here."

Brittany freezes. "Don't tell her I'm here," she breathes out through gritted teeth, rolling her eyes at the whole situation.

"Yeah, she's sitting right next to me," Quinn relays, keeping her bright hazel eyes on Brittany with that impish grin of hers. "You wanna talk to her?"

(This isn't happening. This isn't happening.)

Before Brittany has a chance to run away and lock herself in the bedroom to join Jamie in watching Spongebob, Quinn's holding the phone out to her and mouthing _don't screw this up._

Brittany sticks out her tongue and pinches Quinn in the shoulder before snatching the phone out of her hand. Clearing her throat and ignoring the heat crawling across her face, Brittany puts the phone up to her ear and mumbles, "Hey...Santana?"

Quinn covers her mouth with the palm of her hand at the blush on Brittany's cheeks. And she pinches her lips together to hold in a yelp when the taller blonde kicks her in the shin and mouths _shut up_.

_"Um..." _Santana stalls, coughing awkwardly. _"Hi, Brittany."_

(Brittany doesn't know what to say.)

There's an odd silence that none of them know how to fill, and Brittany can feel the awkwardness of the other night creeping back up on them.

(Brittany doesn't know what to say.)

"What's she saying now?" Quinn whispers, leaning over to hear the conversation through the speaker.

Brittany shrugs and presses the phone to her shoulder. "Silence."

"Well, say something," Quinn advises, her eyes wide in amusement. "Don't just sit there."

_"Brittany?"_

"Still here," she rushes to say, punching Quinn in the shoulder when the shorter blonde snorts in laughter, almost falling off the couch.

_"I'm sorry, but I have to go," _Santana apologizes, and Brittany raises a suspicious eyebrow; she can spot a lie from a mile away. _"Can I call you back later?"_

"Totally." Brittany tries to sound cheery, but it sounds more like she's masking the pain of getting punched in the gut.

(Is this how Santana felt the other night?)

_"Okay,"_ Santana says softly, and there's more silence and mouth breathing before, _"Goodnight, Brittany."_

"Night," Brittany repeats with a nod, ignoring the insistent look in Quinn's eyes as her friend continues to mouth _what's she saying now?_

She hangs up after another moment and glances Quinn's way with a look of defeat.

(That could've gone better.)

"So, what happened, stud?" Quinn asks, a sly grin spreading across her cheeks. "Did you get another date?"

Brittany glares Quinn's way with a passion she's never quite seen in those blue eyes before. Quinn opens her mouth to ask what's up, but she never gets the opportunity to voice her questions before Brittany's tackling her off the couch, shouting, "You idiot! You idiot! You idiot!"

* * *

"You know that thing everyone's always talking about?"

"What thing?"

"That thing that makes everyone feel good inside," Brittany says distractedly, watching her older sister scramble around the kitchen as she gets ready for work.

She can tells her sister's stressed out from being a hardworking mom and a doting wife, but Brittany would give everything in the world to have that. To have someone to come home to in the evening who'll have dinner ready for her and rub her feet. To have cute little monsters barreling down the stairs at top speed in soccer uniforms, jumping in her arms to give her wet, sloppy kisses all over her face.

Her older sister is four years older than her and has been married for about three years now. Their first born is about the same age as Quinn and Sam's only daughter, and her youngest, an adorable baby boy with crystal blue eyes, is still an infant who gets taken care of by a babysitter during the day when his parents are busy at work.

Blinking her eyes slowly and tiredly, Brittany sucks in a breath and sighs, "It's that extra special, sparkly feeling you get deep in the pit of your stomach when you think nothing could go wrong because you're feeling this good and it should be a sin for something bad to happen."

Brittany's sister pauses at the refrigerator door, her forehead creased in confusion. "Um, I'm not sure-"

"But something bad _does _happen; we all know it's going to happen sooner or later," Brittany admits, turning the kitchen faucet on and off, on and off in boredom. "But we push it far, far back in the recesses of our brain, hoping it doesn't find that convenient door out and ruin our whole day."

"Babe..." her sister sighs, standing near the kitchen entrance. "I'm kinda running late-"

"Considering this thing is a myth, it's actually kind of funny how many people believe in it." Brittany rolls her eyes at herself, spinning around to face her sister who's looking rather impatient now. "If you were a two dimensional thinker like my naïve cat, you'd probably think I was talking about happiness."

The older blonde cocks her head to the side, arms crossed over her chest. "Brittany-"

"Or," Brittany interrupts again, tracing the tiles on the counter. "If you were like our mother who loves to overanalyze every little detail, you'd maybe think I was talking about mucous membranes."

"Babe-"

"Which I'm not," she adds offhandedly, lifting herself to sit on the countertop, back facing her sister. "I'm _definitely _not talking about mucous membranes."

Brittany snorts to herself.

(She thinks she's going crazy, but it's kind of hard to tell, because can one really decide if they're crazy or not?)

"Enlighten me." Her older sister rounds the counter and places her hands on Brittany's knees so there's no other direction she can turn. "What are you talking about, B?"

"What I'm talking about is something that doesn't exist, Jess," Brittany huffs under her breath, twirling a strand of her sister's dirty blonde hair around her finger. "No matter how much you love fantasies or fiction or fairytales or backwards origami or cardboard tissues, it's all just a lie."

Jessie tilts her head to the side, knitting her eyebrows together. "I'm afraid I'm not following, babe..."

"When you think about this, you can't help but feel like you're floating." She lifts her arms in the air like a bird and closes her eyes. Slowly flapping her wings, Brittany imagines she's soaring through the sky. "Like your feet can't touch the floor whether gravity exists or not."

Jessie doesn't understand, though this is nothing new.

When they were younger, Brittany spoke an alien language for three weeks straight. No one could understand a word she said, so Jessie's definitely used to not quite getting the way her little sister thinks.

"People like to believe they were born at an exact point in time where the stars aligned with the planets," Brittany mumbles, wrapping her arms around Jessie and pulling her sister's face into her chest for a hug. "And the gods spoke words from their humongous mouths; big, loud words that told a futuristic story about how your life would turn out in later years."

Jessie pushes away from Brittany, grabbing her pale wrists to pull them from around her neck because she was being so smothered she couldn't breath there for a moment.

And that's how Brittany feels most of the time.

(Like she can't breathe.)

Brittany sighs; in through her nose, out through her mouth. She can only wait, albeit impatiently, and hope that one day it'll be her turn. That one day she'll have a big house, a white picket fence, two and a half children, an adoring wife/husband who'll always be there for her no matter what, and vice versa, just like her loving big sister.

"Like what?" Jessie asks eventually when it looks like Brittany's gone into her own little world again.

Brittany smiles at her sister with sad eyes. "Something like fate, maybe."

Jessie eyes her sister; she regards her posture and studies the faraway look in her deep blue eyes.

(That look can only mean one thing.)

"What's his name?" Jessie asks, leaning her lower back against the opposite counter.

"She," is Brittany's quick response as she swings her legs back and forth. "And it's Santana."

Jessie cracks a lopsided smile. "A girl this time, huh?"

Brittany nods, seemingly staring into space.

(Though she could be looking anywhere.)

"And you think she's your soulmate?"

Brittany pauses completely; her legs quit their swinging and her eyes freeze on Jessie. "I've always thought I'd know when I found my soulmate," she mumbles quietly, head tilted sideways. "But now I'm not so sure."

"Oh, I see," Jessie hums in realization, placing her briefcase on the countertop. "Is that why you're questioning fate all of a sudden?"

"Is fate even real, Jess?" Brittany wonders aloud, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach. "Or am I just delusional?"

(She's always thought the good shit existed. What if all this time she's been searching for nothing? What if every sign she's ever encountered has just been an insignificant coincidence?)

Jessie shrugs a shoulder, leaning forward on her elbows next to Brittany's side. "I think _love _exists," she admits, gazing up at her younger sister. "And I think you have to give love a chance before you go blaming everything on fate just because things didn't work out the way you planned."

Brittany sighs and resists the urge to roll her eyes. "I suppose..."

(If it's possible, her sister is even cornier than her when it comes to true love.)

"Have you even spoken to her yet?" Jessie nudges Brittany's leg, trying to get her attention again.

A small smile stretches across Brittany's cheeks. "We went on a date last week."

"Oh..." Jessie seems surprised. "So, this is already a done deal."

Sighing through her nose, Brittany shakes her head and mumbles, "Not exactly." She wrings her fingers together and bites her lower lip, hard. "I sorta told her we should stay friends, but it's okay, because I sent Quinn to tell her I changed my mind and want another date."

"And what if she doesn't want another date?" Jessie quirks an eyebrow as she checks the time on her wrist watch.

Jumping down from the counter, Brittany gives her sister a disbelieving look. "She'll want another date," she say confidently, walking out of her sister's large kitchen. "Believe me."

* * *

"She doesn't want another date."

Brittany spits out her rice with a strangled cough. "What?" she asks in disbelief, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

Quinn places Jamie in her lap so the little girl will stop running around the Chinese restaurant, annoying and bothering the other customers. "She may have seemed cool and collected when you rejected her last week," she begins, shrugging a shoulder. "But I think you broke her."

Brittany takes a sip of water from her glass. "Her _heart_, you mean?"

"No, you broke _her_," Quinn repeats, holding out the chopsticks for Jamie to play with. "She talks to me even less than she did before. Probably still embarrassed by that terrible date."

"Now that I think about it, the date wasn't _that _terrible," Brittany confesses, stabbing at her egg roll with a pout. "You were right. I was so focused on the negatives I couldn't even enjoy her company."

(Damn, that was hard to say.)

"Hate to say I told you so," Quinn mutters under her breath, cracking a smile at the annoyed groan Brittany lets out from across the table.

Ignoring her friend's pleased smirk, Brittany sets her fork down and asks, "What exactly did you tell Santana when you spoke to her anyway?"

(She must have done it all wrong for the woman to just say no.)

"I said _Brittany wants to go out again_, and all she said was I_ don't think that's a good idea_, and walked off," Quinn recalls, nuzzling her nose against her daughter's cheek as Jamie continues to obliviously play with the chopsticks.

"How did she say it exactly?" Brittany questions, taking one of the chopsticks out of Jamie's little hands when the two-year old holds it out to her with a smile.

"What do you mean, how did she say it?"

"Did she sound weary or nervous...or _anything_?" Brittany questions, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Quinn shrugs; she really doesn't see why it matters. "I really don't see why it matters..." she says, lifting an eyebrow. "It was in between meetings, so I didn't really have much time to analyze her voice patterns. Have you tried calling her?"

Brittany nods insistently. "Only about a bazillion times," she exaggerates, pushing her plate away; she's totally just lost her appetite. "I think she's avoiding me."

"I told you she was shy. Almost like a teenager after their first bad date," Quinn mentions offhandedly, smiling at the way Jamie squirms on her lap and tries to slide out of the booth.

"Down, Mommy," Jamie whines, pushing away from Quinn. "Down."

But Quinn just holds on tighter, blowing raspberry kisses into her daughter's neck. Jamie laughs hysterically and gets so worked up she exhausts herself and rests against her mother's chest again.

Brittany can't help but smile at the duo, hoping one day she can have a mother-child relationship like that, and somebody to share it with.

* * *

After two weeks of being a wuss, Brittany finds Santana on Facebook again and finally friends her. To Brittany's astonishment, it takes nine whole days until Santana accepts her request.

It's a Tuesday, and Brittany's at work when she discovers the notification on her laptop screen. She's so excited, she actually stands up and does a happy dance, ignoring the strange looks from her colleagues.

(She always forgets her office is made of glass.)

Sitting back at her desk, Brittany nervously stretches out her fingers and stares at her laptop screen, wondering if she should message her.

(Think, think, think.)

Brittany must type out five full messages and ask Kurt to read it over twice for grammatical errors before she finally makes a decision and presses send.

_Hey, Santana_

_I was just thinking about you recently, wondering if we could finish our date from the other night? I wasn't exactly feeling one hundred percent after the allergic reaction and couldn't accompany you to the movies, but I was thinking, maybe we can go see Warm Bodies this weekend? _

_Quinn told me you like romantic comedies, and I know Warm Bodies is kind of zombieish, but I heard it's really funny. Just a thought. If you're up for it, call me on my cell. You know how to reach me._

_Thanks,_

_Brittany_

She waits five days for a reply, but Santana never answers her message.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" Quinn questions when Brittany breezes into her office and slams the door shut behind her.

"I'm here to watch you type out never ending reports on your laptop about current legal enforcements," she answers sarcastically, peeking through the shades of Quinn's office window. "What do you think I'm doing here?"

Quinn rolls her eyes, sitting back in her seat. "I haven't seen Santana in awhile," she says knowingly, watching her friend pace back and forth. "She could either be out on her lunch break or in the bath-"

"Bathroom!" Brittany exclaims, raising her pointer finger in the air. "Of course."

She's out of the office before Quinn can say another word.

* * *

"I think you're my soulmate."

The words are out of her mouth the moment she busts through the bathroom door and spots Santana washing her hands.

Santana gazes through the mirror with wide eyes, surprised at the intrusion. "Brittany?" she murmurs, drying her hands as she turns around to face the blonde.

Brittany takes a moment to catch her breath and fix her hair before Santana thinks she's turned into a crazy person.

(Breathe; in through your nose, out through your mouth.)

She can't help but notice how beautiful the other woman looks, even in a gray power suit instead of a tight, knee-length dress.

Her brown hair is in loose curls spiraling down her back and around her neck perfectly. Light make-up, super long eyelashes, luscious breasts, sexy high heels, muscular calves, tanned caramel skin.

Brittany feels lightheaded, her heart beating insanity, insanity, insanity.

(Breathe; in through your nose, out through your mouth.)

"In the park a few weeks ago; the dog, the unicorn, the whistling," she rambles all in one breath, chewing the inside of her cheek anxiously, possibly even drawing some blood.

Santana crosses her arms over her chest, brown eyes squinted as they look Brittany up and down suspiciously. "Have you been stalking me?"

"What? No," Brittany denies instantly, waving her hands in front of her. When Santana leans against the sink and lifts a brow, Brittany hangs her head in defeat and mutters, "Okay, maybe a little bit, but I swear it was only to-"

A toilet flushes in a nearby stall and they both freeze. The door creaks open slowly and a short woman with big, round glasses comes creeping out the stall, her eyes downcast awkwardly.

Brittany resists the urge to bust out laughing as the petite woman quickly and quietly washes her hands in the sink beside Santana.

The brunette has her lips pinched together, staring straight ahead until the short woman shuffles passed Brittany and out the door.

Santana clicks her tongue as soon as they're alone again, successfully bringing the uncomfortable silence to both their attention.

"Um..." Brittany bites her lower lip as she looks down at her feet, swaying back and forth on her heels. "Anyway..."

(She completely forgot what they were just talking about.)

"I got your message," Santana mentions, breaking Brittany out of her daze as well as the awkward silence. "Another date, huh?"

"Oh..." A light bulb switches on in her brain. "Another date. Right. Yes."

"The last date we went on wasn't horrible enough for you?" Santana questions, laughing anxiously as she scratches the back of her neck. "You don't write a blog about sucky dates or something, do you?"

"No, of course not," Brittany blurts out, clearing her throat at the way her voice cracks. "I just think it was the universe testing me."

"The universe?"

"You know," Brittany trails off, taking another few steps toward Santana. "Like...fate."

Santana snorts, scrunching up her nose adorably. "I don't believe in fate," she admits, shaking her head in amusement.

Brittany gasps, clapping the palm of her hand over her mouth. "Don't say that out loud," she whispers, her eyes darting down the stalls.

Hesitantly glancing around the bathroom, Santana raises an eyebrow and asks," Why not?"

"The universe might hear you," Brittany states, half-serious.

"Then let's pretend the universe is giving us some privacy right now," Santana whispers back with a smirk, gripping the sink behind her. She takes a deep breath, her dark eyes bouncing back and forth from Brittany's face to the dirty bathroom floor to Brittany's face again.

Brittany holds her breath and wonders what she's thinking, though she doesn't have to wonder for long when Santana speaks up again, softly admitting, "I'm still kinda embarrassed from our last date, but if you really wanna go out, who am I to deny a pretty girl what she wants?"

(And there's that cheesiness again. Is it scary Brittany may have missed it?)

"So, is that a yes?" Brittany asks hopefully, taking another hesitant step toward Santana. "Movie? Saturday?"

Santana nods in acquiescence, smiling in thanks when Brittany holds open the door for her to exit the bathroom.

(Who said chivalry is dead?)

"Saturday sounds good," Santana agrees as they make their way back to the offices. "And maybe after the movie we can go rollerblading through the park?" The look on her face is so bright with excitement, Brittany has to resist the urge to laugh fondly at her bizarre idea.

Brittany lifts an eyebrow as they continue to walk, amused by the brunette's childish innocence. "Rollerblading?" she questions, nudging Santana in the shoulder playfully. "I haven't gone rollerblading since I graduated high school."

(She doubts she even owns rollerblades anymore.)

Brittany's not sure if it's fate or the universe, or just a plain coincidence. She doesn't know what it is, but something about this woman is an odd mixture of awkwardness and a breath of fresh air that she hasn't experienced since her teenage years.

"Really?" Santana asks with interest, her heels clicking against the tiled floor as they round a corner, passed the elevators. "When'd you graduate?"

"2003," Brittany states proudly, tucking her hands in her back pockets. "How about you?"

Pausing outside her boss' office, Santana shuffles her feet shyly and responds, "Graduated in 2010."

Brittany nods, but wait a sec, something isn't right here, and she dips her eyebrows in confusion, thinking she heard wrong. "You mean college, right?"

"No, high school," Santana chuckles, shrugging a shoulder as if this should be obvious. "I'm going to NYU. Been working here as an intern since last year."

Brittany swallows hard, internally doing the mental math as fast as possible, the fastest her brain has ever done calculations in her entire life. "Wait, so..." she trails off unsurely, eyeing Santana's bright brown orbs and innocent smile with brand new eyes.

(Carry the one, add two, divide by nine, plus seven.)

"You're twenty?" Brittany exclaims, maybe a little louder than she should as she takes a steady step back and away from the brunette.

Santana smiles in confusion. "No," she laughs, shaking her head, and Brittany lets out a sigh of relief until Santana adds, "I just turned twenty-one last month."

What Brittany was blind to before, she can finally see; that childish smirk, those baby dimples, young bright eyes, the nervous posture, awkward chuckle, fresh innocence.

(And now, it all makes sense.)

"Age is just a number," Santana reassures her with a shrug, smiling sweetly in the way only a child can; a child with no worries, no timer, no crumbling uterus. "And I like older women anyway, so..."

(Quinn is so dead.)


	3. Chapter 3

_"Age is just a number..."_

The words continue to echo in the back of her mind as she takes an elevator to the fifth floor and walks down a long hallway, still reeling from what Santana just told her.

(The words are teasing her, enticing her, frustrating her.)

Brittany can't even think straight. All she can see is Santana's sweet smile as she said, _"I like older women anyway, so..."_

Brittany probably waited a whole sixty seconds for Santana to finish that sentence, yet she never did, just left it hanging in the air.

_"I like older women, so..."_

(So...what?)

She doesn't know because Santana had just trailed off with a light shrug, her plump lips pinched together in an adorable smile. That was definitely the bright face of a young woman just breaking out into the real world, ready to takeover the city.

(Brittany remembers when she used to look like that.)

Shocked is an understatement when it comes to Brittany's reaction. Sure, everything now makes sense; the reason Santana was so nervous, why she has so many irrelevant friends on Facebook, but Brittany has to admit, she was a bit blindsided by this confession.

Marching down the hallway with a vengeance, because there's no doubt in her mind Quinn is the mastermind behind this comeuppance, Brittany barges into the lawyer's office for the second time today, ready to tell her off. Though that doesn't exactly happen, because it seems Quinn is in a meeting. Right now. At the very moment Brittany wants to tell her off.

(How convenient.)

There's a little note on Quinn's desk for her, and Brittany rolls her eyes when she reads what it says;

_In a meeting. Won't get out until late. My phone is off, so don't bother trying to call me. Talk to you later._

_- Q_

With gritted teeth, she rips up the note into a bunch of small pieces and leaves them scattered all over her desk.

(That'll teach her.)

In the cab ride home, Brittany has to rub her cheeks and jaw to relieve the pain of the tight smile she held after learning just how young Santana actually is.

Santana didn't seem to notice the tension between them as Brittany stared at her with wide eyes in shock, her mouth agape, hanging open like a hinge just broke in her jaw.

It was so quiet you could hear a mosquito crap before Santana had just laughed at Brittany's dazed expression, like her being seven years younger was completely normal.

_"Age is just a number..."_

Santana's words continue to echo in her head; there was an underlining coyness to her voice, Brittany remembers. Her dark eyes were squinted seductively, but all Brittany could focus on was the fact a child was basically telling her she was into older women.

_"I like older women anyway, so..."_

(Older women. Older women. Older women.)

Dear God, Brittany's an old woman. And being with Santana, who's so young and lively and innocent, will only make Brittany feel even older every time she doesn't understand a reference or gets exhausted after one dance or can't hang out too late because she has to work in the morning.

And to top it off, her struggle with believing in fate has just gotten even more complicated; the universe must hate her.

(Or maybe it's just Quinn who hates her.)

It's not that she's never dated anyone younger than her before, she's just never dated someone _this _young. Someone who's only in their fourth year of college, doesn't even have a real job yet, and is working under her best friend.

(If things couldn't get anymore awkward.)

Santana's probably just been allowed to drink legally a few weeks before their first date, hasn't even gotten her basic drivers' license yet, and is still in college, studying to get her degree. There's no chance in hell she'll ever be able to give Brittany what she needs; two kids, a nice house in the suburbs, and a steady income.

(If only she was five years older.)

Now, every time she thinks back on their last date or when she spoke to Santana over the phone, it all adds up. The way Santana seemed to be working extra hard to impress her, or the way she spoke about the future as if it was faraway rather than just around the corner.

But what really bothers Brittany the most is the fact it was so damn obvious, staring her straight in the face the whole damn time.

(How could she have not noticed?)

Letting out a groan of frustration, she knocks the side of her head against the window, ignoring the sketchy looks the driver keeps giving her through the rearview mirror. She lets out a weary sigh, watching as a patch of moisture fogs up the glass.

Truthfully, if she knew Santana was twenty-one, Brittany would've never set up this second date in the first place.

(Great, now she's trapped. Just great.)

* * *

Brittany's never been the best cook; recipes confuse her, she gets too distracted to remember to check the food, and if she's being completely honest, the prospect of getting burned by boiling water kind of freaks her out. That's why she settles for buying TV dinners and throwing them in the microwave whenever she's hungry.

(See, this is why she needs a spouse who can cook.)

Her mind drifts away from the macaroni heating up in the microwave, and Brittany briefly wonders if Santana can cook. She imagines coming home to the brunette in a sexy apron holding out a tray of chocolate chip cookies.

(Delicious.)

Brittany's wild thoughts are cut short when the sound of her phone's ringtone catches her attention. Pushing away from the counter, she grabs her phone from off the kitchen table and frowns when she sees who's calling.

"Did you know?" Brittany answers in lieu of greeting instead of a friendly _wassup, homie _like usual.

(She's still a little pissed off after all.)

Quinn hums in thought, pretending to seem confused. "Did I know what?" she asks eventually, a sickeningly sweet tone to her voice.

"Oh, don't pretend like you don't know," Brittany scoffs, taking her plate of macaroni out of the microwave when it beeps. "Did you know Santana's practically still in diapers?"

"That's mean," Quinn scolds, and Brittany can just imagine the evil smirk across her friend's face right now. "She's not _that _young."

"So, you _did _know," Brittany accuses, shaking her head as she sits on her couch and turns on the television. "How could you do this to me, Quinn?"

"Wow," she murmurs, actually sounding a bit surprised. "That's the thanks I get for helping you?"

"Helping me?" Brittany snorts, rolling her eyes as she shoves a forkful of macaroni into her mouth. "You were helping me by setting me up with a twenty-one year old? Do you know how embarrassing that is?"

She's so overwhelmed, bits of macaroni fly out of her mouth and land on the couch. Swallowing her food, Brittany lifts her legs up to her chest in a fetal position.

(If she didn't feel pathetic before...)

"I feel so old now," she murmurs, blankly watching some kid audition on American Idol.

Quinn lets out a breath of air. "It's only seven years, Britt."

Brittany stares at her unfinished plate of macaroni with disdain. A part of her is still hungry, but another part of her doesn't want anymore because she's sick to her stomach.

"We live in two totally different worlds," Brittany mumbles, trying to explain her point. It's not always easy arguing with Quinn, someone who gets paid to argue for a living. "She's still in college, partying every night with her friends and throwing down the booze while I snuggle up with my cat and drink tea before bed."

"Don't be so dramatic," Quinn tells her, letting out a tired sigh. "I doubt she parties _every _night."

"So not the point, Q," she deadpans, distractedly flicking through the television channels. "You can't just meddle in my love life like this."

"What love life?"

Brittany decides to ignore that for both their sakes. "Now I'm not even sure if I believe in fate anymore because of that park stunt you pulled."

"Park stunt?" Quinn questions, puzzled.

"You know..." Brittany trails off, rotating her wrist as if to help jog Quinn's memory, though the fact Quinn can't even see her doesn't cross her mind until all she's left with is an eerie silence. "Making Santana show up with a dog in a unicorn collar while whistling Britney Spears."

There's more silence on the other line, a bit of fumbling in the background, and then, "I'm sorry to break it to you, Britt," Quinn starts, amusement lacing her tone. "But that wasn't me."

Brittany sits up and stares at her television screen with a raised eyebrow. "What?" she finally gets out, reaching for the remote to put the tv on mute.

"I didn't even know she had a dog," is Quinn's only response, and Brittany just continues to stare until she hears, "Hello?"

Snapping out of her thoughts, Brittany stretches her legs out and glances at the ceiling in wonder. "So, are you saying-"

"I had no part in that, B," Quinn interrupts, holding back the urge to laugh. "That was all Santana."

Brittany thinks about this for another moment before clearing her mind and waving it off as insignificant.

(People walk around all the time whistling Oops I Did It Again with a dog wearing a unicorn collar. No big deal.)

"Well, that's all beside the point," Brittany says nonchalantly, turning the volume back up. "I'm looking for a real relationship, possibly even a marriage someday soon. Santana hasn't even graduated college yet. She's not ready for anything serious."

"You don't know that."

"Sure I do," Brittany says confidently, crossing her long legs at the ankles. "The only thing someone her age wants is a fun relationship, some crazy monkey sex, and a place to crash every now and then on their breaks."

"Have you even asked her what she wants?" Quinn wonders aloud, already knowing the answer to her question. "You've only been on one date."

"I doubt she wants a wife and kids," Brittany argues indignantly, turning over on the couch to bury her face into a pillow.

(Why do these things always happen to her?)

Quinn sighs; it's the kind of sigh you'd hear after failing a midterm you prepared hours for, or misplacing your favorite pair of earrings, or losing a bunch of money in a bet.

"I wasn't kidding when I said your life has become a consistent mess, Britt," she says challengingly, more than likely quirking an eyebrow. "You've relied so much on fate, you've just stopped trying."

"I didn't stop trying," Brittany mumbles, petulant.

"You don't go out anymore, or have fun, or party hardy like a single woman should," Quinn rambles on, her husky voice getting higher and higher the more exasperated she gets. "This is your last hurrah. Your one and only opportunity to live again."

(And she says Brittany's over dramatic.)

"Santana's young and lively, and she knows how to have fun," Quinn continues, ignoring the way Brittany sucks her teeth with a snort of bitter laughter. "And yeah, maybe she's kinda awkward and weird, but you know, most kids these days are, so-"

"Your point, Quinn?" Brittany cuts in, lazily sitting up on the couch.

"This relationship doesn't have to be anything you don't want it to be," Quinn reassures, her voice going soft and smooth again. "All I'm saying is have some fun. No expectations, no worries, no strings attached. Just fun."

Brittany furrows her eyebrows in thought; she supposes it wouldn't hurt to get back out there and do something that tickles her fancy for once. "Just fun?" she asks timidly, just to make sure.

"Just fun."

* * *

"Whoa, so you're like, a cougar now," Kurt exclaims, probably a little louder than necessary going by the pair of eyes focused in their direction. "Which automatically makes her your cub."

Brittany rolls her eyes so hard, one would think it painful, though she never gets a chance to respond when a familiar voice sneaks up behind her and says, "Technically she's not a cougar until they sleep together."

Turning around, Brittany finds Rachel standing behind her, arms crossed, chin held high, and eyebrows raised knowingly.

(Strangely, she always looks like that.)

"Cougars sleep with their cubs?" Brittany wonders aloud, making a face. "That's gross."

Kurt leans back into his chair and looks Rachel up and down, unconvinced. "And where did you get this information?" he questions, tapping his pointer finger against his chin impatiently.

Rachel smirks as she rounds his desk and perches herself on the edge. "Kurt," she begins with a haughty chuckle, daintily crossing her tanned legs. "Everybody knows this. Without sex, the cougar has no claim."

Brittany continues to make a face, her nose crunched up, blonde eyebrows furrowed in disgust. "I don't want to claim her. We've only been on one date," she tells them both, shuffling her feet awkwardly. "And this isn't gonna turn into anything serious anyway."

Rachel scoffs, waving this declaration off with a flick of her wrist. "That's what Dad said about Dad when they first met. They're eight years apart, you know?"

Brittany and Kurt share a look, silently deciding who's turn it is to indulge her. "Really?" Kurt asks dryly, head tilted to the side in mock thought. "I didn't know that."

Rachel nods so fast, Brittany's surprised her neck doesn't snap off her shoulders. "Dad was twenty-five and Dad was thirty-three when they first met," she explains, smiling proudly.

Brittany wants to tell her that no one really cares, but that's kind of rude.

(Also, she doesn't want to get fired.)

Leaning against the reception desk, Brittany purses her lips and asks, "Do you call both your dads Dad?" She might as well engage in conversation and humor Rachel if she's going to get that raise she's been hoping for. "Because that's kind of confusing."

"They can always tell which one I'm calling. It all depends on the register of my voice. See..." Rachel makes a big show of clearing her throat by resting her hand against her chest and looking up at the ceiling with a deep look of concentration. "Dad," Rachel says softly, completely focused on what she's doing. "And..._Dad_."

(Wow.)

Brittany shakes her head. "They both sound the same to me."

"Anyway, back to Brittany's crisis," Kurt cuts in, rolling his eyes at the both of them. "Strangely, I agree with Rachel. Her age shouldn't matter as long as she's willing to give the relationship a mature outlook."

"But don't you get it?" Brittany huffs in frustration, raising her hands in the air. "This is a major set back. Santana's only twenty-one. She's seven years younger than me, and definitely not ready to settle down."

Kurt shrugs a shoulder, looking bored with the conversation. "Seven years isn't even that bad."

"You sound like Quinn," Brittany mumbles, running a hand through her hair in frustration.

Rachel hums in agreement, uncrossing her legs as she stands up. "In my opinion, Brittany, you're seriously over thinking this."

Brittany refuses to back down until someone sees her point; she can't be the only one uncomfortable with this arrangement. "Just think about it though," she begins, resting a hand on her hip. "When I was a senior in high school, Santana was in the fifth grade. Is that not sick?"

"Ooh, ooh...I got one." Kurt's eyes widen as he raises his hand with an excited grin. "When you were a freshmen in high school, your cub was in the second grade, probably wiping her boogers on Billy's Spider-Man backpack or something."

(Wow.)

"So not helping, Kurt," Brittany says, squinting her eyes in annoyance. And this time, she knows she's not alone, because it seems Rachel's just as baffled at his words by the dazed look in her eyes.

"I'm just saying..." Kurt mumbles, trailing off when no one further acknowledges him.

"Well, don't," Brittany throws over her shoulder as she walks away.

* * *

Every Friday night, Jessie and her husband, Noel, go out on to dinner at a fancy restaurant and stay over night at a hotel in order to rekindle their romance.

(Whatever that means.)

In translation, they both need a night to get away from the kids and relieve their stress by having hours and hours of wild, upside down sex.

Usually, during these nights, Jessie and Noel call a babysitter; a teenage girl named Dahlia who lives around the block from them, to watch the little kiddies, because it just wouldn't be right to ask Brittany to watch their kids every Friday when she has a big, exciting life of her own.

But sometimes, teenagers like Dahlia kiss icky boys and catch icky things like mono, meaning they can't earn their eight dollars an hour and Brittany has to come in her place, which she doesn't mind of course; she has the cutest niece and nephew in the world, but too bad she doesn't get paid for babysitting like icky Dahlia does.

It's close to midnight when Brittany finally gets Todd the infant to fall asleep. And just as she's closing the door to his nursery, her phone starts blasting _Toxic_. Following her obnoxiously loud ringtone is Todd's even louder crying. Actually, it's more like whining when there's not even tears present.

(Instead of Todd the infant, she's going to start calling him Todd the whiner.)

Brittany pulls her phone out of her pocket with a sigh to check if it's either Jessie or Noel calling, yet to her surprise, it's neither. Looking back and forth between Todd the whiner's door and her cellphone, Brittany makes a quick decision.

(What to do, what to do?)

Brittany ends up picking up the call. She once read it's perfectly normal to let babies cry themselves to sleep as some sort of form of self-comfort, so she doesn't feel too bad when she quietly tiptoes down the hallway and answers the call with a whispered, "Hello?"

"Hey, Brittany," Santana whispers back.

"Hi," Brittany whispers as she holds on to the banister and tiptoes down the stairs.

Santana chuckles softly. "Why are we whispering?"

"I'm babysitting my sister's kids," Brittany explains, going back to her normal voice once she's standing in the dark kitchen.

"That's adorable," Santana mentions offhandedly, and Brittany raises an eyebrow when her cheeks start to heart up at Santana's random compliment.

(Well, that's new.)

She doesn't really know what to say to that, so instead, she says nothing.

"Haven't heard from you in a couple of days," Santana continues when it seems she's not going to get a response anytime soon. "Just wanted to make sure we were still on for tomorrow."

Brittany hesitates for a moment; if she is being completely honest, she's kind of been avoiding Santana this past week in the hopes the younger girl might have forgotten about that second date.

(She just can't seem to catch a break these days.)

Brittany opens her mouth, ready to spew out an excuse about taking Lord Tubbington to the vet or running a marathon, but just then, completely out of nowhere, she hears her sister's voice.

_"You have to give love a chance before you go blaming everything on fate just because things didn't work out the way you planned."_

It's like a saint or angel just gave her a pep talk or revelation or whatever they call it. Brittany really wants to ignore the voice; after twenty-eight successful years of ignoring her older sister's nagging, she's become a real pro, but instead of brushing off the annoying angel on her shoulder, Brittany does something she's never exactly been good at.

(She listens.)

Clenching her eyes shut in frustration, Brittany leans across the kitchen island and sighs, "Yeah, we're still on."

"Great," Santana exclaims in excitement, seemingly unaware of the inner battle Brittany's fighting with herself. "I can't wait. Also, I have a surprise for you."

Brittany's eyes pop open. "Surprise?"

"Yeah, um..." she trails off, chuckling nervously. "It's for after the movie though."

Brittany paces back and forth in the kitchen, from the giant refrigerator to the shiny stove, and back again. "What's the surprise?" she asks, eyebrows raised in anticipation.

"If I told you, it wouldn't be much of a surprise, would it?" Santana reasons, amused at Brittany's impatience.

"Technically, you telling me about the surprise pretty much ruins it anyway," Brittany counters, opening and closing the freezer with the hope some ice cream will appear if she believes hard enough. "So, you might as well tell me now."

Santana snorts in the middle of a laugh, producing a strange sound, though she doesn't sound embarrassed nor humiliated. To be quite honest, Brittany finds the woman's goofy laugh a bit charming.

"I like the way you think," Santana begins, breathing into the speaker like usual; somehow, Brittany would be speaking to an imposter without the mouth breathing. "But tough luck, kiddo. You ain't getting nothin' outta me."

(Kiddo?)

"If only you could see my pout through the phone, you would have told me minutes ago." Brittany's not sure, but she actually thinks she's flirting.

"As much as I'd love to see that adorable pout, I'm glad there's a barrier between us, because..." Santana pauses, suspensefully dragging out the seconds before she adds, "I doubt I'd be able to resist it."

(Shit, Santana's flirting back.)

With some quick thinking, Brittany takes a seat on a stool at the counter and says, "You're pretty good with words, you know that? Some may even call it charming."

Santana snuffles cockily. "Well, you know, I try."

Brittany giggles, leaning her elbow on the counter in thought. "Gosh, where was this side of you a few weeks ago?" she wonders aloud, lifting an eyebrow. "When you spilled wine on me and punched me in the stomach?"

"It wasn't a punch," Santana denies immediately, scoffing at the very idea of punching her own date. "More like a love tap. I was making sure you were ready to eat."

(Quinn was right again; she _is _funny.)

"Right," Brittany drawls out sarcastically, nodding her head with a roll of her eyes. "So, basically you were fondling me before we even sat down?"

Santana lets out what one would call a gaspy laugh. "Way to make me sound like a pervert," she exclaims incredulously, continuing to laugh. "If you really wanna know why I was so awkward, well...here it is."

Brittany waits with baited breath, sitting perfectly still in the dark kitchen.

(If Katie were to come down looking for Brittany, she would probably scare the shit out of her two-year old niece.)

Letting out a deep breath, Santana quietly mutters something to herself before confessing, "You make me nervous."

An amused grin stretches across Brittany's pink cheeks. "Nervous?"

"You may be surprised to hear this," Santana starts, clearing her throat awkwardly. "But you're the first woman I've been on a real date with since starting college."

(That can't be right.)

Brittany blinks once, then twice; she's not sure if she just heard right because that just can't be. Santana has to be the most beautiful, well-rounded, and once she's pulled out of her shell, funniest person she's met in awhile.

"Brittany?"

Snapping out of her inner monologue, Brittany blinks again, this time a bit faster, and jumps back into the conversation. "Oh, sorry, I just..." she trails off, searching for the right words as she swivels back and forth on her stool. "I guess I just find it strange someone as attractive as yourself is unable to get a date in this city."

Santana chuckles shyly, seemingly embarrassed by Brittany's easy praise. "School has kept me really busy and it's not easy looking for dates when you haven't exactly come out to anyone but your friends," she explains in a rush, never even pausing to take a breath. "It's not like I can just blurt _I'm a lesbian _to the whole campus. I mean, I would if I could, but then I'd be the last person someone would want to date."

"Breathe, Santana," Brittany teases, pausing when she hears a cute little sigh come through the speaker. "The other day, you said you like older women..." Brittany's not sure where she's going with this, but when she's curious, she just can't help herself. "I'm taking that means you've dated women beyond your years before."

(It's what she's been wondering for five days now.)

"Not dated," Santana mumbles, coughing nervously. "Just, you know..."

(Oh.)

"Oh," Brittany murmurs, her cheeks reddening in understanding; she wonders if Santana's blushing as hard as she is.

"Considering I'm so old, I don't really know how things work nowadays, but I'm not gonna be another notch on your bedpost, missy," Brittany jokes, hoping Santana catches on that she's just teasing her in order to extinguish the heavy tension.

And it seems Santana catches on when Brittany hears a throaty chuckle drift through the line. "You're a very respectable woman," Santana tells her, and Brittany wishes she can see the smirk she knows is planted across the brunette's face. "And I'm sure we've all had our fair share of experiences-"

"Some more than others," Brittany cuts in swiftly.

(She just couldn't help herself.)

"I'm going to ignore that," Santana continues, amusement lacing her tone. "Anyway, that's not what this date is to me. I may be better at...some unnamed things more than dating, but then again, I'm not like most girls my age."

"How so?" Brittany asks quietly, absentmindedly twirling a strand of blonde hair around her finger.

"They're all immature," Santana explains confidently. "I like things straightforward. No games."

(Brittany hopes she doesn't mean Monopoly.)

"I'm impressed." She really is, like, a lot.

"That's what I was aiming for."

"Well, you hit your mark," Brittany tells her, smiling from ear to ear. "Bullseye."

(She doesn't think she's smiled this much since Spongebob came out of the closet.)

Women she knows now, who are the same age as her, don't even have their heads screwed on as tight as Santana. Sure, the young woman is awkward, like Quinn said, and gets oddly nervous at times, but Brittany thinks that's a part of her charm.

(After all, you can't have Lucky Charms without the marshmallows.)

"From now on, no mention of our age difference," Santana demands playfully, her voice quiet all of a sudden, and for the first time tonight Brittany wonders where Santana is; her dorm room maybe? "I'll forget you're in your late twenties if you don't mention I've just barely turned twenty-one. Deal?"

Brittany purses her lips in thought. "You drive a hard bargain, but...you've got yourself a deal," she says in a western accent, successfully making Santana laugh.

"Okay, starting now," Santana begins, her laughter slowly dying down. "The word age doesn't even exist."

* * *

It's a pretty warm night. Not too humid, which is good for her hair. Blonde locks blow in the cool Spring air as she speed walks down the sidewalk through crowds of lost tourists and New Yorkers coming home from work on the subway or going out to party depending on their attire.

Turning the corner around a tall, brick building, Brittany almost trips over an old man with a white, straggly beard sitting against a wall on the dirty ground.

Dressed in a dark, green trench coat, the old man holds out a silver can and rattles it hopelessly. With a heart of pure gold, Brittany just can't walk by him without digging into her bag and placing a dollar in his can.

As Brittany gets ready to walk on, because she's already running late, the old man looks up at her with wide eyes. "God bless you, ma'am."

Brittany pauses and looks over her shoulder with a small smile. "You too, sir," she tells him before continuing down the sidewalk towards the theatre her and Santana agreed to meet.

It's already dark out, because Santana insisted on seeing the late night showing, stating it's more romantic. Brittany had just laughed, because to her, nothing about the movies is really all that romantic, whether light or dark outside.

There are sticky puddles of soda near the entrance, piles of garbage stacked in the aisles, annoying preteens in the ticket booth, wads of gum stuck under the chairs, and what's even worse, you can't even converse with your date without bothering the people sitting around you.

Brittany can't even remember the last time she went on a date at the theatre. More than likely it was around the same time she last went rollerblading.

Guys would take her out to the movies, sit as close to her as possible, and whisper dirty things in her hear, making her roll her eyes, and not in the good way. Then, when she'd least expect it, the guy would yawn and stretch before placing his arm around her shoulders.

(If there's anything she hates more than spiders, it's clichés.)

As Brittany turns another corner, the movie theatre comes into view, and as promised, Santana is waiting right in front of the ticket booth for her, anxiously shuffling her feet as she runs a hand through her long, dark hair, looking in the opposite direction of where Brittany's approaching.

Santana must hear the light pitter patter of Brittany's footsteps coming up behind her, because she turns around before Brittany can even announce her arrival. A knot forms in her stomach when Santana smiles at her, pearly white teeth and big brown eyes shining under the streetlight.

"You didn't stand me up," Santana jokes, going in for a hug without hesitation.

Brittany eagerly hugs her back, wrapping her arms around the smaller girl's waist. "Were you expecting me to?" she whispers into Santana's ear, surprised when the other woman pecks her on the cheek before releasing her from their embrace.

(Is it weird she wishes the hug lasted a bit longer?)

Santana bows her head bashfully as they make their way to the ticket booth. "No, I'm just glad you're giving me another chance after the disaster that shall not be name."

Standing behind a cute elderly couple on line, Brittany looks at Santana and raises her eyebrows, amused. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"Either that," Santana says, stepping forward in line. "Or The Great Dinner Fail of 2013 seems pretty fitting."

"Can I help you?"

Their heads turn to the ticket booth where a scrawny teenager stands, his head tilted sideways impatiently. Acne's scattered across his face like the stars in space, yet not as pretty to look at.

Glancing Santana's way, Brittany gives her a small smile before stepping up to the glass of the ticket booth. "Two tickets for Warm Bodies, please."

Just as she's digging into her bag for her wallet, Pimple Boy tells them the movie is, "Sold out. Pick again," as if he's some host on a gameshow.

Santana steps forward, an irritated crease in her forehead. "What do you mean sold out?"

"It means out of sale, miss," he deadpans, staring at them blankly.

Backing away from the ticket booth, Santana places a hand on the blonde's lower back and leans in to whisper, "Any other movie you wanna see, Britt?"

Brittany leans into the touch with a small smile. "You choose," she whispers back, shrugging a shoulder.

"Yeah, because that worked out so well the last time I picked something out for us," Santana mutters sarcastically, shaking her head in embarrassment.

"Don't be so hard on yourself. I'm totally over it," Brittany reassures her, resting a hand on the other woman's forearm. "And I have to admit, the irony of the situation was a little bit funny. After the swelling went down in my throat, that is."

"See, about that..." Santana mumbles with a wince, guiltily toeing the ground with a sheepish grin. "I have a confession to make."

"Yeah?" Brittany eyes Santana quizzically, ignoring the exaggerated sighs Pimple Boy keeps releasing from the ticket booth.

Sucking in a gust of air, Santana closes her eyes and blurts out, "I can't speak French."

A hollow silence follows the brunette's confession before Brittany lets out a giggle, throwing her head back in laughter; she doesn't know why, but that's the funniest thing she's heard all night.

"So, at that restaurant..." Brittany trails off, arching an eyebrow.

"I have no idea what I ordered us," Santana tells her, shrugging a shoulder. "Well, I know there was paprika in it."

Brittany shakes her head in amusement. "Yeah, we definitely know that."

Pimple Boy clears his throat, trying to get their attention. "Any day now, ladies. Before I turn one thousand."

"Watch it, bozo," Santana warns, stepping back in front of the ticket booth, her eyes scanning over the list of movies. "Me and my lady friend would like to see, uh...Lincoln."

Brittany arches a brow. "Lincoln?"

"Yeah, why not?" Santana shrugs. "My friend, Tina, said it was really good."

* * *

It turns out, the movie is boring as hell, but at least she has Santana to keep her entertained throughout the film.

Even though Santana doesn't seem to be as nervous as she was on their last date, she's still equally as clumsy, tripping down the aisle as they make their way to their seats all the way in the back, accidentally brushing her hand against Brittany's boob when she reaches over for some popcorn, (at least Brittany thinks it was on accident) and she even spills a splash of soda on Brittany's pants.

(Again.)

Basically, the date starts out exactly like the last one, but this time, Brittany kind of finds the dorky things Santana does a little adorable.

Brittany's not sure what's going on, or what the universe is trying to tell her, though she finds she doesn't really care if Santana continues to shoot her fleeting glances out of the corner of her eye, or faintly run her fingers over Brittany's hand whenever she reaches into the popcorn bowl.

Santana's just, a breath of fresh air, unpredictable, hilarious, fun to be around, and...a bit of a dork. She can be mature and civil when she wants to, but can quickly go back to snorting in laughter or telling a corny joke in seconds of saying something truly deep.

Halfway throughout the film, Brittany feels something light hit her in the side of her head and fall into her lap. Quirking an eyebrow, Brittany takes her eyes off of the movie screen and smirks at the way Santana all of a sudden looks totally invested in the picture.

"Very mature," Brittany whispers, sticking out her tongue when Santana looks her way again.

Santana raises her eyebrows, feigning confusion. "Is that sarcasm I hear?" she asks, keeping her voice low. "Because I see no reason why I deserve such a negative tone."

The brunette's teasing statement is rewarded with a handful of popcorn thrown her way. After loudly sputtering and wiping the salt and butter off her face, Santana sends Brittany a look of disbelief before throwing a handful of popcorn back.

With muffled giggles, popcorn flies back and forth in the air between them, getting caught in their hair and clothes. And surprisingly, a kernel even gets trapped in Brittany's bra.

"Shit," Brittany laughs, digging into her shirt as if she's searching for buried treasure. "I can't find it."

Throwing her head back, Santana starts cracking up, but she bites her tongue when the dude in front of them turns around with an angry snarl and mutters, "Some of us here are actual die hard Lincoln fans, so do you mind _shutting _your yap?"

"If you don't turn back around and mind your own business, Afro man, I'm gonna _shut _the door on your head repeatedly when we exit this theatre," Santana whispers nonchalantly, like it's something she says everyday, before throwing a piece of popcorn at the dude's puffy hair.

The kernel gets stuck right in the middle of his afro, and Brittany holds the palm of her hand over her mouth, unsure if she should laugh or gasp at the odd turn of events.

Surprised by Santana's outburst, the man slowly turns back around in his seat and slumps down a few inches.

"Santana," Brittany scolds, unable to hide her smile as she throws a piece of popcorn at Santana, though instead of dodging the popcorn like before, her date catches the kernel in her mouth with a smirk and winks Brittany's way before turning back to the movie.

* * *

Their hands brush together every now and then as they walk down the sidewalk and away from the movie theatre. Neither one of them retreats from the touch. The reassurance of having someone next to her is soothing, comforting. It makes Brittany feel warm all over, even though it's a chilly night.

They walk in silence, just enjoying the low key Saturday night and the New York sights; the tall skyscrapers, the bright lights, the interesting people.

Brittany wants to ask where Santana's taking her for that surprise she promised, but she doesn't want to break the serene silence or seem impatient.

When a gust of wind blows by, Brittany pops up her collar and side glances in Santana's direction, catching the brunette watching her with a small smile. Santana quickly looks away, her head bowed as she smiles bashfully into her chest.

They walk for about ten minutes until Santana stops them outside an alley and tells Brittany they're almost there. Looking around the area, Brittany raises an eyebrow, because she's never been in this part of Manhattan before, and her eyebrows go even higher when Santana tells her to close her eyes, explaining that she'll lead her the rest of the way.

Very, very reluctantly, because this part of town looks a bit sketchy, and she's only known Santana for a few days tops, she closes her eyes with a sigh, flinching slightly when firm hands rest on her waist and softly push her forward.

(Ha, that tickled.)

With small, steady steps, she lets Santana lead her to who knows where. She almost trips over her feet about five times and walks into a wall twice before they finally come to a stop and a raspy voice whispers, "Just turn a little to the left."

"You're not gonna be butt naked when I open my eyes, are you?" Brittany jokes, her arms stretched out in front of her so she doesn't walk into another wall.

Chuckling softly, Santana hovers just behind Brittany and says, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

(Yes.)

"No..." Rolling her eyes under her eyelids, Brittany quickly shakes her head in denial. "That's just preposterous."

Santana gently pulls her forward with an airy laugh. "Just a few steps to the right," she instructs, guiding Brittany with the hands on her hips. "Okay...open them."

Opening her eyes, Brittany has to blink a few times to focus her vision after seeing nothing but darkness for the last two minutes. At first, all she sees is a tall lamppost until she follows the glow of the light against the wall in front of her.

Santana waits in silence behind Brittany as she slowly raises her head, gasping when her eyes land on a plethora of colors; oranges, blues, reds, yellows, and purples scattered across the brick wall in a magnificent mural of spirals, twirls, and shapes.

"Did you do this?" It's comes out as a breath of air; that's how astonished she is.

"Yeah," Santana says proudly, stepping up to stand beside Brittany, glancing at the blonde out of the corner of her eye. "Me and my brother, Rudy, did this back when we were in high school. But don't tell anyone. I'm pretty sure tagging is illegal."

Brittany giggles and nods slowly, her eyes continuing to scan over the work of art when a thought occurs to her. "You grew up around here?"

"No, I'm originally from Queens," Santana tells her, placing the palm of her hand against the wall. "But we came up here all the time when I was younger to visit my abuela."

Tucking her hands into her pockets, Brittany sways back and forth on the heels of her feet as she studies the intricate lines and colors, wondering how someone could put so much feeling and emotion into a piece of graffiti art.

"You're so talented, Santana. This is amazing," Brittany whispers, shaking her head in amazement. Cocking her head to the side, she squints her eyes and says, "But...what is it?"

Santana chuckles, absentmindedly tracing the lines of the bricks with her pointer finger.

"It's you."

Brittany's first reaction is to nod, but when she repeats what Santana just said, her eyes meet her hairline. "Wait, what?"

(She totally must've heard wrong.)

A wry smile stretches across Santana's cheeks. "It's you," she repeats, shrugging a shoulder. "I know I painted this years ago, but when I saw you for the first time, I couldn't help but think you looked just like her."

Brittany squints at the graffiti art and tilts her head to the side.

(Her?)

All Brittany sees is a bunch of colors and lines mashed together to create more colors and lines. There's no doubt the mixture of paint is beautiful, but Brittany can't for the life of her see herself in this mural.

Sensing Brittany's confusion, Santana chuckles softly and grabs the blonde's wrist, lifting her arm towards the building so her hand is pointing at the mural.

"It's a profile, you see? That's the nose; a perfect slope," Santana whispers into Brittany's ear as she leans into her. "And...there, right there. Those are the sleek, catlike eyes. They're daring with a splash of blue right around the pupils." Santana pauses to look at Brittany, pinching her lips together to hide the smile tugging on the corners of her lips. "Just like yours."

Squinting her eyes, Brittany follows the direction Santana's pointing her hand and smiles when the lines form the side of face. "I see it now," she says, her blue eyes bright as she takes a step closer to the wall, running her fingers over the dry paint.

Brittany stares at the mural, head tilted to the side in amazement, because it _does _look like her. A lot. Though how can that be, Brittany wonders, if they've never even met before the night of their first date?

(_Fate_, someone whispers in her ear.)

Shaking off the thought, Brittany's eyes roam over the wall, reveling in the way the lamppost casts the perfect shadow over Santana's artwork.

"How come you didn't tell me you were so artistic?"

Santana shrugs, a smiling curving at the edge of her lips. "You didn't ask."

"Oh, c'mon, don't give me that lame excuse," Brittany scoffs, turning on her heel and following Santana out of the dark alleyway. "So, is it just graffiti you do, or..."

"Mostly graffiti, but I dabble in sketching a bit," Santana mentions offhandedly, turning a corner as they step back onto the sidewalk and stroll down the street. "Though I haven't done this sorta stuff since I graduated. Just thought you'd like to learn something about me."

Brittany glances Santana's way as she runs a hand through her hair. "I guess that means next time it'll be my turn to share something."

Santana's easy steps falter for a second when she hears Brittany's words. "Next time?"

Nodding her head, Brittany bites her bottom lip and admits, "I had a really great time tonight, Santana."

(Great is an understatement.)

"Really?" Santana lifts an eyebrow, skeptical.

"Really."

"So, what you're basically telling me is that you wanna do this again?" Santana questions slowly, wringing her hands together in front of her. "I mean, not the same exact thing, because that could get boring after awhile if we kept going to the movies over and over and-"

"Sshh," Brittany hushes her with a half-grin, pressing a finger to her plump lips.

Santana shuts up immediately, eyes wide as they glance down at the finger attached to mouth.

Giggling at Santana's expression, the blonde slowly removes her hand with a blush, whispering, "Yes, I'd definitely like to do this again."

(And again and again and again.)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: There are some time jumps in this chapter, so hopefully it's not too confusing. Hope you like :)**

* * *

Brittany has a secret; she doesn't know how to fall in love. She's fallen into people and plates of food and down the stairs, but she just can't seem to fall in love.

She's done multiple things in her life, and she's a very versatile individual, but she's either never found the right person or something just didn't feel right.

You'd think someone who so easily believes in love at first sight and fate and soul mates would have a hard time _not _falling in love, but that's just not the case; not with Brittany, at least. And because of this little falling in love problem is why she's hiding behind a tree.

(Yes. A tree.)

Not only is it a good place to hide from the hot sun, but it's also a great hiding place to get away from her crazy mother. Sure, she may look like an idiot to any of her family members who walk by and see her crouched behind a tree with a pointy birthday hat on, but if it means staying out of dodge, then so be it.

It all started when she was twenty-five, still yet engaged. Her parents are the old fashioned type when it comes to marriage, so ever since that fateful birthday, it's been her mother's ultimate goal to find the perfect person for her daughter.

Throughout the last three years, Brittany's met a myriad of hopefuls, both men and women alike, that her mom introduced her to, but none of them were _the one_.

She's been standing in her sister's backyard behind this dumb tree for almost ten minutes, trying to escape from her mom and the next crazy person she'll try to set her up with. Most of the time, it's almost inevitable to escape her clutches, but Brittany's feeling really confident about her hiding place this year.

"Britt?"

She jumps out of her skin, quickly turning around with her fisted hands up and ready, but when she sees it's just Jessie holding her baby nephew, her heart rate immediately slows back down.

"Don't do that," Brittany sighs, leaning back against the tree in exhaustion. "If you weren't holding Todd, I'd totally hit you right now."

The edges of Jessie's lips curve upward as she stares at Brittany, her eyebrows slightly raised. If this was anybody else hiding behind a tree, she'd probably question it, but since it's Brittany, she'll just let it go.

(After all, she's seen her sister do way crazier shit in the past anyway.)

"You wouldn't hit your favorite sister," Jessie scoffs, shifting Todd in her arms as he becomes heavier in his sleep.

"You're my _only _sister," is Brittany's monotonous answer, peeking around the tree in search for their mom.

"My point stands." Jessie shrugs, taking a seat at a nearby picnic table and resting Todd on her lap.

"Have you seen Mom?"

"Last I saw, she was chatting with Mr. Philips' son. Randolph, I think," Jessie tells her, placing Todd's birthday hat back on the top of his head when it begins to slide sideways. "Or maybe Arnold."

(Randy's in the military. Arnold's his younger brother. He's also in the military. The last thing she needs is a military husband.)

Brittany quickly ducks behind the tree when she spots a tall, blonde woman walking by, but when she sees it's just her aunt, she lets out a breath of relief and takes a seat next to Jessie now that the coast is clear.

"Why don't you just tell her you met someone?" Jessie wonders aloud as she rakes through Todd's baby bag in search for a pacifier. "Then she'll stop trying to hook you up with a bunch of randoms."

"Because," Brittany huffs, crossing her arms. "She'll want to meet her and wonder why I haven't brought her around yet, and then she'll-"

"Think you're ashamed of us," Jessie cuts in, finishing Brittany's sentence for her.

Brittany considers this, then nods firmly. "Yes, exactly."

"Well, are you?"

"Am I what?" Brittany raises an eyebrow.

"Ashamed of us?"

"What? No," she immediately denies, shaking her head. "Why would you think that?"

"You never bring anyone home, Brittany," Jessie explains, shrugging a shoulder, but when Brittany sends her a disbelieving look, because that is _so _not true, Jessie huffs and adds, "Okay, maybe _once _you brought someone home. But not since college, at least."

"I just want to make sure they're _the one_ before I bring them around my friends and family, that's all," Brittany tells her, leaning an elbow on the table as she watches said family and friends chat around the smoking grill and throw back bottles of beer. "You guys will always be good enough for them. I just wanna make sure they're good enough for _you_."

Jessie's quiet for a moment as she looks down at Todd, her lips pursed in thought. "And is this Santana good enough for us?" she asks eventually, her eyes still downcast.

Brittany shrugs. "Don't know yet."

"When _will _you know?" Jessie questions, nudging Brittany in the side with her elbow.

"Don't know yet."

"Britt..."

"Jess..." Brittany huffs, rolling her eyes. "Sure, I like Santana and everything. She's nice and sweet and stuff. But she's too young for me."

Jessie laughs, obviously finding something funny with what was just said. "Too young?" she scoffs, giving Brittany a look from the corner of her eye. "How young could she possibly be? Twenty-five, twenty-six?"

"Just turned twenty-one," Brittany deadpans, then waits for the inevitable explosion.

Jessie winces in surprise, her grey eyes wide. "Jeez, Britt. You sure know how to pick 'em. She's like ten years younger than me." Her sister's silent again as she seriously ponders this age difference and all the repercussions that could come with it, as if Brittany hasn't thought of the consequences yet. Eventually she comes up with a conclusion and it's this; "That's gonna be awkward."

Brittany sighs, loud and obnoxious, shifting on the bench so that she's now face to face with her older sister. "Only if you make it awkward."

Jessie ignores her words, eyes focused somewhere behind Brittany's head. "Twenty-one," she says, as if tasting out a new flavor on her tongue. "That's really young, Britt. I thought you were looking for someone to settle down with."

"I am," Brittany insists, sighing in exasperation. "Quinn said I was getting boring and predictable, so she set me up with Santana because she thought it would loosen me up."

Though, so far, all it's done is stressed her out and make her feel even older than usual; this arrangement can't be good for her blood pressure.

"That's all this is," Brittany restates, her eyes determinedly focused on her hands. "I'm not really expecting marriage or anything out of this relationship."

"If you say so..." Jessie singsongs skeptically, her eyebrows near her hairline.

(It's obvious to any passerby that she doesn't believe a single word coming out of Brittany's mouth.)

Brittany's already got a lot on her plate if you count her job, her needy boss, her psycho mother, as well as Santana. The last thing she needs is to care about what her sister thinks of all people. Sure, just two weeks ago she had the same thoughts about Santana being too young, but now she doesn't know what to think.

"I _do _say so," Brittany responds, averting her eyes across the backyard to where Katie and her little friends are playing with hoola hoops. "It's nothing serious, just a casual thi-"

She cuts herself off when something vibrates inside her bag, and her eyes widen, because she could've sworn she left that at home, but then she remembers she put her phone on vibrate before leaving the house and lets out a sigh of relief before reaching inside her bag for her phone.

When she turns on the phone, her face automatically breaks out into a wide grin after seeing who the text is from. Since last week, they've been texting back and forth. Nothing serious, just small things about their day or what they were doing at the moment.

"Seems like it's more than just a _casual thing _going by the way you're smiling like a fool," Jessie says knowingly, snapping Brittany out of her thoughts.

Brittany bites her upper lip, shrugging a careless shoulder as she quickly taps out her reply to Santana. "She's just really funny. That's all."

"Mhm..." Jessie hums under her breath, shaking her head in amusement.

She's just about to press send when a shadow hovers over her, and she wonders if a cloud is covering the sun when a giant hand swoops down like a possessed hawk and steals her phone right out of her hands.

"Noel!" Brittany screeches, her eyes wide as she reaches out for her phone. Her brother-in-law snickers in amusement as he holds the phone high above his head. "Stop it, Noel. This isn't funny."

Noel continues to laugh nonetheless, grinning widely behind his full beard. "I hope Katie doesn't text as much as you when she gets older," he snickers, turning his back on Brittany as she tries to snatch her phone back.

"Speaking of Katie, shouldn't you two be with her? It's her birthday after all," Brittany points out, pouting when Noel continues to keep her phone out of reach. "Jessie, tell your giant man child to give me back my phone."

"Noel, c'mon, give it back," Jessie sighs from behind them, disinterested and far too used to their bickering to even give two shits.

"Winnie wants to meet you. You two would look so adorable together," Noel reads aloud, squinting behind his round glasses at the phone. "Man, these aren't even the least bit juicy. What are you guys even texting about? Winnie the Pooh?"

Brittany gapes, her mouth opening and closing, because she can't believe he just read her text messages. For awhile, no words come out, just air, until she squares her shoulders and indignantly blurts out, "It's her Beagle."

"Her dog is named Winnie the Pooh?" Jessie asks, arching an eyebrow.

"No, Winnie the Dog." It's sounds like she's being sarcastic, but she's not.

(She's never been more serious in her entire life.)

"Winnie the Dog?" Noel asks slowly, chuckling when Brittany timidly nods her head, blushing under their scrutiny. "What, did she rescue it from the Hundred Acre Wood or something?"

"Don't be mean," Brittany growls playfully, catching Noel off guard and snatching her phone out of his huge hands. "You're the one who named my cat Lord Tubbington."

Noel plops down on the bench next to his wife, bending down to kiss Todd on the forehead. "Just be glad we didn't name your nephew Mister Bartholomew like I wanted before I was overruled by the two of you."

* * *

After they sing Happy Birthday to Katie and cut the cake, Brittany finally gets a chance to escape inside and call Santana. Half of her family members are drunk by now anyway, including her mom, so it's not like they'll notice her absence. And she hasn't seen her dad since the party started, so he's probably drunk somewhere as well.

(Her family will use any opportunity to drink; even if it's to celebrate a three year old's birthday.)

_"Hey, stranger."_

Brittany's stomach flutters; she tries to convince herself it's probably just that slightly raw hotdog she ate earlier.

"Nonsense..." A smile stretches across her cheeks as she leans against the back door. "We're hardly strangers anymore," Brittany responds, tilting her head sideways.

_"True, not after that wild night we had," _Santana agrees, _"Sitting in the back of a theatre, throwing popcorn at each other. Good times, good times." _

Brittany tries to stifle her giggles when she hears fumbling footsteps clunk drunkenly down the hallway. "I really want to see you again," she tells her, surprised by her own honesty. "When can that be?"

_"Well," _Santana singsongs, humming in thought. _"My global philanthropy class was just conveniently cancelled. Wanna hang out tomorrow?"_

Brittany bites her thumbnail with a small smile, eyes shy and downcast. "Hang out?"

She knows what hanging out is; she's not _that _old, but it's been awhile since she's hung out with anyone other than Quinn, and to be quite honest, it scares her a little as she wonders what they would do all day. She even goes as far as asking Santana, and when Santana says everything, she really means _everything_.

They meet at a local coffee shop. It's a warm Sunday morning. Usually, Brittany stays in on Sundays. She can't remember the last time she's seen the outside on this day of the week, but she has to admit, the change in scenery is definitely welcomed.

The city's not as crowded this early on a Sunday, and surprisingly, the quietness of it all is really calming, offering her a serenity she hasn't felt since trying weed in college.

And another bright side? Santana sure is a sight in casual clothing. On their first two dates, she dressed in a skirt and heels, but today, she opts for some denim overalls and flip flops.

Though that's not the first thing Brittany notices when Santana walks through the shop's entrance five minutes after her; what grabs her attention is Santana's hair. Instead of straight to the bone like before, it's a mixture of curls and waves like she just got out of the shower and let it air dry.

And this time - something else that's different - they're both shy as they greet each other.

(And Brittany's never shy. Like, ever.)

"Hey," Santana says, smiling brightly as she approaches Brittany.

Brittany stands, self-consciously tucking an unruly strand of hair behind her ear as she mumbles, "Hi..."

They order coffee; Brittany pays, and memorizes Santana's coffee order before they set out on their adventure.

Santana takes her to places all over the city she didn't even know existed. A few blocks down, she finds herself in a cozy bookstore, strolling down the aisles with Santana by her side, hands held loosely between them.

(She doesn't remember who initiated the contact, it sort of just happened, and neither of them have pulled away since, so.)

A book catches her attention, and she gets lost in skimming through the novel, quickly reading the pages and deciding whether she should buy it, thus losing track of time as well as Santana.

Cocking her head to the side, she slowly sets the book back down and looks up and down the aisle for the brunette.

A head pops up on the other side of the bookcase, nearly scaring Brittany half to death. Santana laughs, that deep throaty chuckle Brittany swears she only uses for her.

(Though she can't know for sure when she's never met any of Santana's friends.)

Now, Brittany knows the city of Manhattan is big, like really big, and of course there's always something happening since it's one of the most popular tourist spots in the country, but she never knew how much fun it could be until she was with someone as entertaining and energetic as Santana, dragging her all around from place to place to place like a dingy rag doll.

They go places Brittany would have never been caught dead before meeting Santana, mostly because venues like arcades and art museums would have easily put her to sleep, but with Santana, it's different.

(Everything with Santana is different.)

With her head tilted to the side, Santana purses her lips and quietly studies the painting in front of her. "Looks like a naked chick," she settles on, looking Brittany's way with a smirk.

Stifling her laughter with the palm of her hand, Brittany steps up beside Santana and narrows her eyes on the painting.

(After awhile, all of them start looking alike, so this could easily be a rainbow cow as well as a naked chick.)

"You seem pretty sure of yourself," Brittany mentions offhandedly, never taking her eyes off the work of art. "Have you seen many of those?"

"Paintings?"

"Naked women."

"I've seen a few in my lifetime," Santana affirms without missing a beat, her eyes glued to the painting as well. "And I'm sure you have as well."

"I have," Brittany agrees, glancing Santana's way with a quick nod. "Though it's been awhile."

"Hmm," Santana hums in contemplation, pursing her lips as she turns to face Brittany completely. "Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that, won't we?"

(Brittany sure thinks so.)

Loud music blasts out of the stereos in the record store they end up in hours later. Brittany can tell Santana's been here before by the way she greets the owner with a quick fist bump before strolling to the back of the store.

Brittany takes a moment to look around before diving into the music. The place isn't very crowded. It almost seems secretive and secluded, only for the coolest of music junkies.

Santana rakes through stacks and stacks of albums, her eyes widening in excitement whenever she comes across a familiar band or an old artist she recognizes from the Harlem Renaissance Era.

Josh, she learns, is the name of the owner. He has messy, floppy brown hair; you can barely see his eyes under his long bangs. His jeans are so tight, Brittany's surprised he can still breathe. And although it looks like he hasn't bathed in days, he actually smells quite good; like Pine Sol and apricots.

Sneaking up behind Brittany, Santana places a pair of clunky headphones on the top of her head, introducing her to artists she'd never even think of listening to in a million years, but she has to admit, she kind of likes it and wishes she discovered it a long time ago

(She wishes she discovered Santana a long time ago, too.)

It's dark out by the time they're strolling quietly down Brittany's street, hands laced between their bodies, footsteps slow in order to drag out their remaining time together.

Brittany doesn't want the day to end. Although she's exhausted, she can't deny this has been the most fun she's had in years.

(And she didn't even have to get drunk.)

"This is me," Brittany whispers, once they're in front of her apartment building.

"It sure doesn't look like you," Santana jokes, snorting in laughter when Brittany leans to the side and bumps her in the shoulder as they ascend the steps.

Once they're standing on the stoop, Santana looks up at the building and holds on to Brittany's hand a bit tighter before reaching into her bag with the other. "I saw you looking at this earlier," she says, pulling out a red, soft covered book.

Her heart skips a beat and gets trapped in her throat. "Santana," she breathes out, because she doesn't know what else to say as she looks back and forth between the book and Santana's hopeful expression.

Tentatively, as not to ruin the moment, she reaches out for the book. There's a brief pause where they both hold on to the novel.

(A suspense in time. A halt in movement.)

Her breathing stops for all of five seconds as Santana leans into her, but when she realizes the younger woman's aim is directed at her cheek, Brittany turns her head just enough to capture Santana's lips.

She can tell she caught Santana by surprise from the squeak she releases as soon as their lips touch. The kiss is a bit fumbling and clumsy, lips moving together awkwardly, and when they both pull out of the kiss, Santana won't meet her eyes, quickly releasing the book and shoving her hands into her pockets in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"No, it's my fault-"

"-little caught off guard."

"I shouldn't have-"

"No, I'm glad you did-"

"-moved before thinking."

"-can kiss way better than that," Santana concludes with a nervous smile, coughing into her fist.

It's a shame how endearing she finds that coy smile. "Well, then," Brittany begins as she steps up to Santana, placing her hands on the brunette's hips. "Maybe you should try again."

(And she does.)

The kiss is sweet; Santana's lips are soft, languid as they move against hers, slowly and smoothly. She releases a sigh from her nose and tilts her head to the side, sucking on her bottom lip and kissing her like she absolutely means it.

And Brittany kisses her right back, slipping her tongue in between Santana's lips, her mind going dizzy, dizzy, as a hand wraps around her neck and flows through her hair.

"_Way _better," Brittany mumbles against her lips, resting her forehead against Santana's, breathing in her vanilla body mist.

(Dizzy. Dizzy.)

Santana smiles; the one where her eyes squint cutely, her nose crinkles, and her dimples show. "I totally agree," she whispers, brown eyes glancing back down as she licks her lips.

This is the first time her heart has thumped against her chest with so much vigor in a long time, and Brittany knows she can't let this moment slip away without asking Santana to come upstairs with her.

(She really wasn't lying earlier; it _has _been awhile since she's last seen a naked woman, and tonight, she kind of wants that to change.)

The words are right on the tip of her tongue when Santana leaves a lingering kiss on her lips before slipping out of her hold.

"Where are you going?"

Santana smirks, as if she can read exactly what's going through Brittany's mind. "Subway," she says, shrugging a shoulder. "Gotta get home before Blaine, or he'll eat the last slice of pizza."

"Santana," Brittany sighs, rolling her eyes at the other woman's joke.

She can always tell when Santana's teasing by the gleam in her dark eyes. And this gleam is beaming. Brittany's eyes focus on Santana as she searches for an excuse, a reason, _anything _to make her stay just a bit longer.

"The subway's dangerous around this time of night," Brittany warns, grabbing Santana's wrist and pulling her back against her body. "And since you're already here, you might as well stay over."

(If anyone asks, she's totally not holding her breath right now.)

Santana arches a brow, squeezing Brittany's hand comfortingly. "I'm a toughie, I can handle the subway rats," she begins, swinging their arms back and forth between them. "And I have an early class tomorrow. I'm already gonna be exhausted as it is, I don't wanna be sore as well, you know?"

Brittany rolls her eyes, unable to fight the airy laugh that tumbles out of her mouth. "You're such a dork."

"Only for you," Santana says, and it's so raw, Brittany has to hold her breath again to keep her heart from leaping out of her throat.

Slowly slipping her hand out of Brittany's grasp, Santana sends the blonde a crooked smile and promises to call her tomorrow.

"And enjoy the book," she adds, climbing down the steps backwards, and Brittany never takes her eyes off of Santana's retreating figure until she disappears down the street and into the darkness.

When Brittany's in the elevator, waiting for the metal box to reach her floor, she smiles to herself.

(She feels like a teenager with a secret.)

Even after watching Santana walk away, the knot in her stomach has still yet to settle. There's just all this energy flowing through her veins and she wishes this wonderful day didn't have to come to an end.

Sucking in a gust of air, Brittany runs a hand through her hair before glancing down at her new book. She giggles as she reads the front page.

_Warm Bodies_

When she flips the book open, she's met with a loose scrawl that can only be Santana's handwriting. Her eyes narrow as she reads the loopy cursive, a grin carving into her cheeks.

_I saw you reading through me earlier and just knew you couldn't resist. The girl who bought me, Santana, I think her name is, said you didn't get a chance to see the movie, but that's okay, because the book is always better. _

_Hope you enjoy,_

_Santana :)_

Brittany reads and rereads the small note over and over again until the elevator dings, alerting her that she's reached her floor. As she walks down the carpeted hallway toward her apartment, her eyes remain glued to the book held tightly in her hands.

(Then, deep inside her, in some dark and cobwebbed chamber, she feels something twitch.)

* * *

Santana's perfect in all of her imperfections. Her flaws and quirks, Brittany thinks, are what make her so freakin' charming in the first place.

Sure, she may curse like a sailor, laugh at her own jokes, and have a mouth breathing problem because she broke her nose when she was little while playing football with her brothers, but those are all the things that make Santana who she is, and what's even better, she's not afraid to be herself.

A few days later, they go out again. And again and again and again. Before Brittany knows it, she's had fifty-three days of Santana. Fifty-three days of running up her phone bill, talking to Santana at all hours of the night. Fifty-three days of falling and falling, though not really landing yet. Fifty-three days of laughter and more laughter, and also some tears, because at times they laughed so hard, they cried.

It's the longest relationship she's had in years. Usually she dismisses people right after the first date if they aren't her soulmate; almost like she did Santana.

Unlike all of the other people she's dated in the past, Brittany tries something different with Santana, because after all, the woman is different in general, practically a walking contradiction; she's a brilliant, intellectual law school student who uses big words and witty phrases one moment, then the next, she's goofily making funny faces at Brittany, sending her cute little text messages as soon as she wakes up in the morning, or rolling in laughter at her own corny joke.

Surprising, unknown to Brittany, before meeting Santana, she was maybe just a little bit bitter and lonely. Sure, she used talk to her cat a lot, but she didn't know that made her an old maid.

Apparently, according to Kurt, Rachel, and even Quinn, she wore a frown on her features most of the time, which definitely throws Brittany for a loop, because she could've sworn she was always smiling.

It took her fifty-three days, but now she finally gets it. Now, when she looks into the mirror, she doesn't see weary bags under her eyes, or frown lines around her mouth anymore; she sees a bright, tanned face from all the outdoor activities Santana's dragged her to, and she even sees a permanent smile just thinking of said activities.

Her smile doesn't leave her face for the rest of the day, and when Santana calls her up while she's hanging out with Quinn after work, her grin just gets even broader.

Ignoring Quinn's teasing, Brittany scurries off to the next room to talk to Santana about anything and everything, from what she did that day, to what she's going to eat for dinner.

They talk so much and go on for so long that they almost lose track of time until Quinn informs Brittany they've been chatting on the phone for more than two hours.

_"I know you probably have to go, but how about it?" _Santana asks quickly, apparently having heard Quinn's nagging in the background. _"We can rent the bicycles at this shop near my place. And I know this awesome route we can take through Central Park."_

Rolling her eyes at Quinn's immature kissy faces, Brittany turns around and says, "Sounds like a plan. Where are we meeting?"

_"I have an early class at like seven, but I get back at around ten, so..." _Santana trails off, deep in thought. _"I'm gonna have to stop at my place to drop off my stuff. How about we meet at my apartment?"_

Brittany chews on her bottom lip, suddenly apprehensive about their meeting place for some reason. "Apartment?"

_"Yeah,"_ Santana chuckles. _"You know, the place I live."_

Brittany laughs too, though only to hide the hesitation in her voice. "I don't know why, but I always assumed you lived in a dorm room or something."

_"I might as well with how childish my roommates are," _Santana mumbles, most likely rolling her eyes. _"And my landlord doesn't even let me keep pets. Sucks, right?"_

Brittany scrunches up her nose in confusion. "But what about Winnie?"

_"What Mr. Hwang doesn't know won't kill him,"_ Santana says quietly, as if they're sharing their own little secret. _"So, I'll text you my address and we'll meet on my steps out front tomorrow?"_

Brittany smiles, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "Sounds good to me."

_"Okay, see you tomorrow," _she whispers sweetly, and Brittany gets ready to say goodbye, but her words are cut off when Santana quickly adds, _"You know, even though I just saw you two days ago, I kinda miss you already. Is that weird?"_

Her eyebrows meet her hairline, but the action is more out of intrigue than surprise.

Brittany's mouth is half open, ready to repeat the words back to Santana, because if she's being honest with herself right now, she _did _miss Santana over these last two days, but something in the back of her head keeps nagging her to keep things casual and fun, so instead of echoing Santana's sentiment, she closes her mouth, swallows her words, and says something else.

"Not at all," Brittany says, answering Santana's question, anxiously nibbling on the inside of her cheek while hoping Santana doesn't hear the slight inflection in her voice. "Goodnight, San."

She kind of feels bad for not saying it back, but it seems Santana doesn't really notice as she whispers, _"Sweet dreams, Britt," _before hanging up.

Brittany can feel someone behind her; she knows Quinn didn't leave the room. She sniffs the air.

(Yep, that's definitely her perfume.)

Turning around, Brittany raises an eyebrow and mutters, "Eavesdrop much?"

Quinn doesn't even have the decency to look caught. "That look on your face," she says, pointing a finger at Brittany and almost poking her in the eye.

(After all, they're only standing four feet away from each other.)

"What look?" Brittany crosses her arms and leans her lower back against the kitchen counter.

"What did she just say?" Quinn asks, her lips twitching upward into a smirk. "It was something serious, wasn't it?"

(Grabbing at straws, it seems.)

Brittany knows Quinn, therefore she knows her friend doesn't actually know anything. "I don't know what you're talking about," she responds, shrugging a shoulder as she feigns oblivious.

"Brittany, I know that look," Quinn whines, her eyes wide. "Just tell me."

Unable to hide her giddy smile, Brittany covers her face as she shakes her head and mumbles, "She said she missed me."

Fingers wrap around her wrists and pull her hands away from her face. "Aw..." Quinn's got this dopey look on her face as she gushes and pinches Brittany's cheeks teasingly.

Swatting her hands away, Brittany wipes off the smile on her face and averts her eyes. "No awing," she mumbles, absentmindedly fiddling with her phone. "This is moving too fast. It's only been about a month and a half. This was suppose to stay fun, but now it kinda feels like we're girlfriends."

Quinn cocks her head to the side, hazel eyes squinted in understanding. "And you don't want that." It's not a question, because they both already know what Brittany wants.

(Well, one of them does. Brittany just doesn't know which one.)

She shrugs and looks down at her nails. "_You _said it," she mumbles, picking at her cuticles. "Just some fun. No worries. No strings attached."

"Well, why are you telling me this?" Quinn lifts her eyebrows, hands on her hips. "Maybe you should have told Santana."

* * *

It's been getting warmer out lately. Brittany likes the warm weather; it makes her feel calm, slows down her erratic heartbeat, and offers the promise of a great tan.

She's baking right now sitting on Santana's stoop, waiting for the younger woman to get back from her trial advocacy seminar, or wherever she said she was going.

"You're here early."

Brittany didn't even hear the footsteps approaching. Lifting her head, she peers up and shields her eyes from the sun when it's too bright for her sensitive, blue eyes.

"Well, I figured since you missed me so much..." Brittany trails off, smiling at the way Santana playfully rolls her eyes. "So, you ready to go?"

Santana offers her a hand to help her up. "All set. Just need to change my shoes," she says, pulling Brittany up into a standing position and pecking her quickly on the lips. "Come up with me. It'll just take a minute."

Brittany looks up at Santana's building and frowns; she's not sure what it is, but something about meeting Santana's friends/roommates kind of intimidates her.

She's not nervous. Definitely not nervous, because Brittany Pierce never gets nervous. It's just, meeting the friends makes things seem more serious, and Brittany kind of likes the way things have been so easygoing and laid back between them.

"I can just wait down here," she mumbles, leaning against the stone staircase, content with burning in the hot sun before following Santana into the apartment of doom.

"Don't be silly," Santana chuckles, taking her hand and dragging her up the remaining steps. "It's so hot out here, I swear I saw the devil standing on line for ice cream a few blocks down."

And that's how she ends up following Santana cautiously through her front door and into the apartment of doom. Actually, going by the lack of walls, it looks more like a loft. And it seems there's no one home, which Brittany is overjoyed to discover.

(She's not ready for that yet. Or ever.)

"Mi casa es su casa," Santana murmurs as she rushes into another part of the apartment, leaving Brittany near the door to look around awkwardly.

The place is a bit messy; there are rock posters pinned haphazardly on every wall, clothes and laundry scattered here and there, and dog toys littering the floor.

"Where's Winnie?" Brittany calls out to Santana when she remembers a little puppy is suppose live here as well.

"With Tina," Santana yells from her room. "We don't keep the air condition on during the day since we're all broke. And I don't want her to get over heated, so Tina takes Win to work with her on hot days."

She doesn't have to wonder who Tina is for long when she sees a collage of pictures posted on the refrigerator. And she smiles fondly when she spots a photo of what looks like Santana, her three brothers, and a giant fish.

"Christian wanted to go fishing for his thirteenth birthday," Santana speaks up from behind her, arms slowly wrapping around her waist. "So, we went fishing. Worst day of my life."

Brittany leans back, smiling when Santana nuzzles her nose into her cheek. "I don't know," she begins teasingly. "You look pretty happy here."

"I always know how to put on a good face for the camera," Santana explains jokingly, tucking her fingers into Brittany's front pockets. "I'll give you an inside look behind the scenes. That's Ricky."

She points at the tall guy with black hair who's standing next to her in the picture, his arm thrown over her shoulders with a big, white smile on his face.

"He's a total drama queen. Wouldn't stop complaining the whole trip," Santana tells her, rolling her eyes just thinking about it. "And there's Rudy."

She points at another tall guy with black hair who's standing on the other side of her, his arm thrown over her shoulders with a big, white smile on his face.

(Wait a second. Ricky and Rudy?)

"Are they twins?" Brittany asks, leaning in closer to get a better look. She's seen a picture of them before, but that was a few months ago on Santana's Facebook page. They weren't in the same photo, so she just immediately assumed they were the same person.

"They may look alike, but they're total opposites," Santana chuckles, shaking her head. "Rudy's into sports and girls. Ricky's into sports and guys."

She leans in even closer to the fridge, squinting her eyes. "Ricky's gay?"

Santana nods, her chin bumping against Brittany's shoulder. "He's always teasing me about how I followed in his footsteps," she mumbles quietly, annoyed. "Asshole."

Brittany's eyes continue to study the picture, bouncing back and forth between the twin brothers. "How can you tell them apart?"

(They're like the Latino male versions of Mary-Kate and Ashley.)

"Honestly, they look nothing alike to me. It's probably a sibling thing though, because Christian can't see the resemblance either," Santana explains, arms squeezing Brittany's torso gently. "But my mom gets them mixed up so much, it's insane."

Brittany smiles, lifting her hand to point at the photo. "So, that's Christian? Holding the fish?"

"Yep," Santana says easily, popping her lips into Brittany's ear, making the taller woman giggle and turn around in her arms.

They stand there for awhile, just holding each other. There's something comforting about knowing she now has someone to hold her. She now has someone to look her in the eyes the way Santana is, with nothing but pure affection, and a little something else.

"That picture was taken about two years ago, so he's fifteen now," Santana mentions, breaking the silence surrounding them. "He's on his school's baseball team. Maybe one of these days you wanna come to a game with me and check it out?"

Brittany's grip becomes tighter on Santana's waist, a tense smile lifting at the corner of her lips. "One of these days."

* * *

The water offers a cooling sensation to her sore muscles. It sprinkles out of the shower head and drenches her body in a warm flow of heat and moisture encircling the bathroom.

She can still hear Quinn's laughter from last night when she expressed over the phone how Santana seems to run on a battery that never runs out of juice.

"Santana's awesome and just so full of life, but she's like the goddamn energizer bunny," Brittany sighs as she plops against the couch, throwing her head back with a huff. "It's a little exhausting."

_"You guys slept together and you didn't tell me?"_

"Uh...no," Brittany mumbles as she sits up, knitting her eyebrows in confusion. "We just went bike riding."

There was a pause, a low scoff in the background and then Quinn's blasé response_. "Grandma," _she mutters, chuckling into the speaker of the phone.

A lone trickle of water slides down her neck and between her breasts. She closes her eyes. She can't fight off the smile that tugs at the corner of her lips when her mind drifts away from the hot water pooling around her ankles.

She spends a longer time in the shower nowadays. Not necessarily for thinking purposes; if Santana has taught her anything in the last couple of weeks, it's that thinking always leads to complication.

Santana likes to feel; not so much physically, to Brittany's dismay, but she's possibly the most vulnerable and emotionally stable person who has ever studied law.

Lawyers are usually closed off, overanalyzing every little detail, frustrated with themselves and the (in)justice system.

(Brittany would know; her best friend is a lawyer after all.)

Though, to Brittany's surprise, Santana's not like that. At all. As she said before, Santana likes to feel, and not in the physical sense, because they have still yet to get down and dirty, but in a way the blonde can tell Santana hasn't been in many relationships in her young life and doesn't know how it feels to get her heart broken.

She doesn't understand how thin the line between trust and betrayal is; doesn't quite get how the world works, how relationships work, and more importantly, how simple relationships work.

Brittany likes the girl, she really does, and Santana makes her smile when they're both together and apart, but Brittany's trying really hard to keep her distance.

This thing between them, it's suppose to be fun; Brittany's not looking for a girlfriend or a long term relationship, and maybe Quinn's right.

(Maybe she should have told Santana this.)

Although Brittany really wants to tell her, she just can't do it now; she's already in too deep. Just thinking about telling Santana makes her nauseous. She imagines the way she would say it, the devastated look on Santana's face, as if the wind was just punched out of her.

Next, following the heartbreak, would be the rush to quickly put on a tense smile and agree, expressing school and studying and friends would make it too hard for anything serious anyway.

She wanted to tell her so many times, but every time she'd get ready to say it, something would get in the way.

For instance; they were saying goodbye in a cab outside of Santana's apartment, kissing each other goodnight in the backseat, soft lips melting together, hot tongues dueling passionately, teeth clinking and clanking every now and then when things got steamy, fingers pulling at silky hair close to the scalp.

Everything was going great; as great as making out in a taxi cab could offer you when Santana whimpered a quiet, "Love this."

It was said so quickly, Brittany's not even sure if she imagined it or not, but it made her pull away from their kiss quicker than usual.

A smile remained on her face as she squeezed Santana's hand and gave her a soft peck on the cheek before whispering, "You should probably get going; you have an early class tomorrow."

(It just now occurred to her that she knew Santana's whole schedule. Goddamn.)

"You're right," Santana agreed, her eyes half lidded as she completely disregarded her last words and recaptured Brittany's lips, and who was Brittany to deny a soft kiss?

Brittany could feel Santana's smile against her lips as a warm tongue separated the space between her mouth. Hands inched down her sides and rested on her hips, pulling her in closer and closer until she was pressed up against Santana.

It was Santana who pulled away next, shooting the cab driver an icy glare when he cleared his throat and rotated his wrist in a _move it along _fashion.

Brittany had giggled at the disgruntled look on Santana's face. She distracted the younger woman by running her hands through her hair, and it seemed to work when Santana looked back at her with that usual goofy smile stretched across her cheeks, eyes dark as they connected with Brittany's again.

She didn't know what to say, Brittany remembers, but if they didn't get out of that taxi soon, the cabbie was totally going to curse them out, so she quickly pecked Santana on the lips and whispered, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Santana whispered back, leaning in for another lingering kiss on the lips. She hovered over Brittany, their mouths barely touching as she added, "I'll miss you."

Whenever someone said this, whether it was her mom, or her sister, or even Rachel, Brittany always felt inclined to say it back, so with a quick gulp, she put on a smile and uttered, "I'll miss you, too."

The disappointed look from the driver was all Brittany needed to feel like shit for the rest of the evening and regret the effects of stringing Santana along.

She had wanted to tell him to mind his own damn business every time his eyes darted back to her through the rearview mirror, but Brittany was way too emotionally exhausted to even open her mouth, let alone form actual words and sentences.

And if it's not the taxi driver giving her slack, it's Quinn teasing her almost every time they see each other, saying something along the lines of, "What drugs have you been giving my intern?"

Brittany always responds with a quirked eyebrow, because half the time she has no idea what her friend is even talking about when in regards to Santana. More than often, it's some kind of joke about how smitten the younger girl is with her, so Brittany just opens her ears and waits as a sly smile stretches across Quinn's lips.

"Santana's been walking around the office looking high on love ever since you two got together," Quinn would finish with a little nudge in Brittany's ribs, and before Quinn could get a chance to run away, Brittany would nudge her back, thus creating a punching war between the friends in which Quinn would end up underneath Brittany as the taller girl pinned her to the floor with a crooked smile until Quinn yelled, _"Unnncle!"_

It's only been two and a half months since their third date. There's no way Santana has fallen for her that quickly. Quinn's just teasing her, trying to get under her skin and mess with her head.

Although Brittany tells herself she's been doing an awesome job at keeping things casual between them, she can't deny how excited she gets over the little things Santana does, or how her life has shifted over the last few weeks; how it's easier to get out of bed in the morning, how she grins like an idiot every time Santana sends her a dorky text message.

She finds herself smiling at random moments. Her thoughts drift off to Santana, wondering where she is or what she's doing. And when she's home alone, she wishes Santana was there with her, holding her hand or just talking.

(Brittany likes the way Santana talks, from the things she says to the way her voice sounds; low and smokey and poetic and raspy and...)

Brittany lifts her head and lets the warm water sprinkle against her face. She feels like she doesn't have a care in the world on Sunday mornings. Ever since Santana got her started on the wonder of it all, she just can't seem to stay in bed.

Water falls into her mouth a little when she starts singing at the top of her lungs, her thoughts mostly on the dates they've been on over the last few months which has turned more into casually hanging out. Brittany's not sure, but she thinks this means they're officially dating.

(Not girlfriends though. No, not at all.)

This is suppose to stay simple, fun, with no worries or expectations, because although Santana's a sweet girl and the funniest person she's met since adopting Lord Tubbington, she doesn't want to get into anything serious and string the poor girl along when she never expects to fall in love with her or anything crazy like that.

(It's not like she can fall in love anyway, so why even bother trying?)

Like Quinn said, this is just fun; her last hurrah and opportunity to live again before she settles down.

(Brittany briefly wonders if Santana's aware of this arrangement.)

Well, she finds out later that day when they're all cozied up on Brittany's couch, tucked comfortably under a thin blanket. Santana's laying half on top of Brittany, her hands wrapped around the blonde's waist, head snuggled under her chin.

"What do you hate more than anything in the world?" Brittany whispers, nuzzling her nose into Santana's cheek with a soft smile.

Santana considers this, basking in the comfortable silence. "Hate pigeons," she mutters, making a face of disgust just thinking about them. "They're like rats with wings."

(They're playing a game. Brittany made it up. It's a question game, obviously. Rules: Brittany asks the questions. Santana answers them.)

She's come to discover that Santana, no matter what, always seems to have the most interesting answers to her questions. She started asking them about a half hour ago, just because she was interested and felt like learning more.

Like usual, Santana just seems to go with the flow, answering her questions with unbridled ease, chuckling quietly when they're a bit bizarre, and humming in thought when they catch her off guard and she has to really think over her answer.

"If you could get the answer to any question in the world, what would it be?"

Santana pinches her plump lips together. "Who framed Roger Rabbit?"

(Brittany's not sure what she expected, but it definitely wasn't that.)

"Your dream car?"

"That hot ride from Back to the Future."

Brittany gently rakes a few strands of hair out of Santana's face, smiling when the younger girl closes her eyes and sighs through her nose. "If you could sit next to anyone on the bus," she begins, her voice lowering into a whisper. "Who would it be?"

"Rosa Parks." Santana's answer is immediate this time; Brittany likes how she's so sure of herself.

(Now if only she could be sure of her own self.)

Dipping her head, Brittany rests her cheek against Santana's hair, brown locks tickling her chin. "If you could be anyone, dead or alive, who would you be?"

Santana smirks, her nose crinkling cutely as she says, "Jessica Rabbit."

A crease wrinkles in between Brittany's brow. "What's with you and that movie?"

"Cartoons and people mixed together..." Santana trails off in explanation, like it's just that simple. "And I like the scene where that Christopher Lloyd's eyes pop out of his head. Classic."

"Okay, weirdo," Brittany teases, softly kissing Santana on the temple when the younger woman juts out her lower lip into a pout. "Why Jessica Rabbit though?"

Santana smirks, shrugging against her. "She got big jugs."

Brittany saw this coming, of course, but she likes to keep things fresh, so she scoffs and hits Santana in the shoulder before carrying on. "If you could only bring three things with you on a deserted island, what would they be?"

"Three..." Santana trails off, tapping her chin in thought. This is the most she's considered a question all night, so Brittany's really intrigued about Santana's answer until she hears, "Three strippers."

Brittany laughs, rolling her eyes at the cheesy grin stretched across Santana's cheeks, dimples deeper than ever.

"Goofball," she whispers, nudging Santana in the side with her elbow, making the other woman squirm since apparently that's her tickle spot.

(It's inevitable. Santana never stops being adorable.)

"I would've never thought you could be such a dork after you were so stiff on our first date," Brittany teases, shifting onto her side so that they're now face to face.

"Stiff?" Santana rests a hand against her chest, feigning insulted. "I told you I was just nervous."

"Just nervous?" Brittany prompts, skeptical. Santana pouts, hiding her face in the crook of Brittany's neck. "Don't go getting all shy on me again." She wraps her arms around Santana's slim waist and pecks her on the cheek, making the brunette smile. "C'mon, you can tell me," she mumbles into her hair, dark curls covering her face like a secure blanket. "Was it just nerves?"

Releasing a sigh, Santana shrugs a shoulder against Brittany's stomach, her thin shirt rising slightly under the covers.

"I don't know. I guess I didn't want you to think I was this immature person," Santana murmurs, wandering fingers hesitantly seeking out Brittany's hand under the covers. "Especially after I saw you from across the restaurant looking all elegant and shit."

"And shit," Brittany agrees, taking Santana's hand out of her inner thigh and interlacing their fingers when the younger girl gets a bit sidetracked during her search. "There was no reason to be nervous. You're the most mature twenty-one year old I know."

"I'm the _only _twenty-one year old you know." Santana rolls her eyes playfully when Brittany delivers yet another lingering peck to her cheek, pressing hard into her face and smashing her nose against the brunette with a giggle. "Which reminds me; I want you to meet my roommates."

Brittany pauses, her lips slowly detaching from Santana's face with a wet smack, eyebrows furrowed, nose crinkled in confusion.

(Dammit, this is what she's been trying to avoid.)

"Your friends?"

It comes out quiet and hesitant as she broaches into the subject. So far it's been three blissful months of oblivion, and Brittany was kind of hoping it could stay that way a little longer before Santana started asking for more.

Meeting the friends is just above the step of casual dating and having fun; it's a slight step below dinner with the parents, and to Brittany, that's kind of serious, kind of a big deal, kind of what she didn't want to get into with Santana.

Santana gazes up at her, puppy dog eyes glazing over with a shiny film, bottom lip jutting out just enough to make an adorable pout, thumb rubbing over Brittany's knuckles in slow, soothing circles, instantly relaxing Brittany's racing heartbeat, and before she even knows what she's doing, her head is bobbing up and down in acquiesce, because there's no way, just no way she can say no to that face.

* * *

**A/N: There's a _Warm Bodies _reference in this chapter somewhere. Just want to say it's an awesome movie and an even awesomer read. I highly recommend it; totally check it out ;)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews, story alerts, and favorites. It really means a lot. **

**People have been wondering why I took some of my other stories down. Since I'm only seventeen, my mom likes to keep a close eye on what I'm doing on the Internet. She knows I write on here, but not **_**exactly**_** what I write, so I had to delete them.**

**Anywho, I'm going to edit and upload some of them again. Just leave a review on which ones you'd like to see reuploaded first. Thanks! And enjoy the chapter ;)**

* * *

She's never been an avid reader. Truthfully, reading makes her drowsy and within three pages, she's usually fast asleep.

(The nasty kind of sleep where she drools all over the pages.)

Despite these past habits, within two days, Brittany finds herself already halfway through her new book. There's just something about it; not only is it eye opening and inspiring, but in an unnerving way, it kind of reminds Brittany of herself.

The closer she gets to the end, the more this feeling continues to nag her in the back of her mind. Before she was even past the first three pages, she noticed something; a connection to the novel, a familiarity with the underlying emotion, a similarity between her and the main character.

Some may say her strange pull toward the apocalypse storyline is the fact she's a zombie, which, of course, is absolutely absurd; her body isn't deteriorating from the inside out, she doesn't speak in fragmented sentences, and if she ever got shot in the chest, she wouldn't keep walking around like nothing ever happened, or dig through her chest and take the bullet out of her heart as if she's just popping a pimple. If Brittany gets shot, that's it for her.

(Game over. Kaput.)

But in a sense, a slight metaphorical view, she _was _a zombie. She walked through life not really feeling, just existing, waiting for someone to step into her life and get her heart pumping again.

(And she thinks she finally found that someone.)

Brittany sits cross-legged on the saggy, fabric couch, gently running her fingers through the fluffy fur of the small puppy cozied up in her lap sleeping soundly.

(She'll never tell Santana this, but in a way, the little puppy kind of reminds her of the younger woman.)

The way the dog twitches her nose and snores in her sleep, the way she can't hide when she's excited over something by the way her eyes light up, or the way she gets super playful whenever someone gives her too much attention.

Sighing, Brittany leans her elbow on the armrest and focuses her eyes on the television to distract herself from the fact Santana's friends will be joining them for dinner soon.

She can't help but feel like this whole night is going to be a horrible mixture of awkwardness and misunderstanding, on her part mostly. The last time she hung out with so many young adults was when she was one herself.

Sure, she's only twenty-eight, going on twenty-nine in about four months, but that hardly makes her a young adult anymore.

(Hell, that hardly makes her young.)

To keep her mind off the inevitable embarrassment of barely understanding a word of slang Santana and her friends use tonight, Brittany watches the reporter on the news with little interest, even though they speak of a big storm coming.

Brittany can't really take their warnings seriously anymore, not when the news continues to speak of storms brewing every week, yet nothing happens but some light drizzling.

"Dinner's almost ready."

She lifts her head to find Santana leaning against the doorway, her eyes soft as she watches Brittany and Winnie snuggled up comfortably on the couch.

Brittany cracks a hesitant smile and nods before returning her attention to the television. "Okay," she murmurs, gently scratching behind Winnie's ear.

Santana's lips quirk up into a small smile as she tilts her head to the side. "Blaine and Tina should be home any minute now."

Brittany nods again, apprehension curling up inside her chest. "Okay."

"You alright, Britt?" Santana pushes off the the doorframe, her steps slow as she saunters toward the couch.

"Swell," Brittany replies, swallowing hard as Santana takes a seat on the couch next to her, her body turned slightly so she's facing the blonde's profile. "Just, the storms. They make me jittery."

(Lies.)

Santana smirks knowingly; her lips seem to be pursed and smiling at the same time, looking insanely kissable at the moment, but Brittany retrains from leaning forward and attacking those lips with the knowledge Santana's friends could come walking through the front door at any moment.

"Well," Santana whispers in contemplation, scooting a little closer to Brittany, her eyes dark as she reaches forward to tuck a stray strand of hair behind the blonde's ear. "I'll protect you."

Brittany giggles, her hand stilling in Winnie's smooth fur as she leans into Santana's touch. "Yeah?" she says just as quietly, fluttering her eyelashes at the feeling of Santana caressing her cheek. "How're you gonna do that?"

"I'm gonna wrap my arms around you, snuggle you into my warm embrace," Santana tells her, a teasing smile stretched across her cheeks as she moves closer toward Brittany until their bodies are pressed close together. "And kiss you all over."

Brittany raises an eyebrow, glancing down at the coy smile carved into Santana's dimpled cheeks. "All over?"

"All over," Santana confirms, tilting her head just enough to nuzzle her nose against Brittany's cheek and press a light kiss to her lips, leaving Brittany wanting more.

(And more and more and more.)

Her lips remain puckered, eyes closed, hoping for another kiss. And maybe one that lasts a bit longer this time.

After a beat, Brittany's wish comes true when she feels a warm mouth cover hers again, kissing her with a little more bite behind it, yet still soft.

Santana's lips are always so soft, and as the younger woman separates her mouth and runs her tongue against Brittany's lip smoothly, Brittany groans throatily, nibbling on Santana's full bottom lip before pulling away to catch her breath.

Santana chuckles, and Brittany just can't help but smile. Whenever Santana's around, she just _has _to smile.

(It's like, a rule or something.)

"You're so brave, San," Brittany murmurs jokingly, tracing a path down Santana's forearm with her pointer finger. "What would I do without you?"

"Let's hope we never have to find out," Santana responds without missing a beat. "Because I'm not going anywhere."

Without warning, a lump forms in her throat, those simple, easy words echoing through her head. Brittany slowly retracts her hand, resting it back in the sleeping dog's fur.

(_I'm not going anywhere_, Santana says.)

(Oh jeez.)

Brittany doesn't know what to say, so she does what she's best at;

"Has it started raining yet?"

(She changes the subject.)

Santana doesn't seem to take notice, more focused on burning her gaze through Brittany's blue eyes. "Nah," she says with a shrug, tucking her leg under her bottom more comfortably. "Last I checked it was just really windy."

Brittany believes in fate, of course, and the universe and serendipity, but it seems she's going to have to add irony to that list as well, because right when those words leave Santana's mouth, a loud rumble of thunder practically shakes the whole building before the sound of raindrops start crashing against the windowsill.

"Spoke too soon."

Santana chuckles, running her fingers through Winnie's fur, lightly brushing her hand against Brittany's fingers. Brittany smirks at Santana's sly attempt to lace their fingers together, a shiver running up her spine when their pinkies touch.

"Do you have like magical powers or something?" she questions, gesturing her head toward the window where it's pouring bullets. "Because that was really spot on."

Santana rests her head back, craning her neck sideways. "Yeah, I'm like Ororo Munroe," she says matter-of-factly. "Once my eyes turn silver, I'm unstoppable."

Brittany stares at her in confusion. "Who?"

"Ororo Munroe," Santana repeats, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You know, Storm? From X-Men?"

Biting her bottom lip, Brittany just stares at Santana's flabbergasted expression and shakes her head.

"I know she wasn't part of the original five, but she's still an epic addition to the team. C'mon, you know who I'm taking about. Didn't you see the movie?" Santana rambles on and on, looking at Brittany with a look of disbelief as she pushes herself off the couch and heads into the back room. "Halle Barry played her. The African-American chick with the long, silver hair and tight clothes and..."

A crease forms in between Brittany's forehead as she sits up and follows Santana's retreating figure until the girl disappears into the back of the apartment. Santana continues to mumble something unintelligible under her breath, but Brittany can't hear a word she's saying until she returns with a stack of comic books.

"She was born in Harlem, but later moved to Egypt where her parents died, making her an orphan at the age of six," Santana explains, setting down the stack of comics on her coffee table.

Brittany sits forward, her eyebrows raised slightly in amusement as she listens to the story.

Santana kneels in front of the coffee table as she flips through the pages and points to a picture of the heroine. "Her country was going through a drought and she was the one who supplied their water source so they wouldn't die."

Brittany nods her head slowly in thought, her eyes taking in everything Santana shows her with intrigue. "If Storm were here right now, would she be able to stop the rain?"

"Storm can do anything in regards to weather," Santana claims, quickly flipping through the pages in search for more pictures. "Strike lightning, roar thunder, make it rain up in this motherfucker."

Gasping, Brittany rushes to cover Winnie's ears. "Santana," she scolds half-heartedly, nudging Santana in the side with her foot. "Language."

The brunette rolls her eyes as Brittany snuggles the dog against her face and kisses the stop of her head, running a hand through her smooth fur.

"I can't believe my dog is getting more action than me," Santana mutters, leaning against the couch on her elbows, fingers tracing a line around Brittany's kneecap.

"Jealous?"

"Of a dog?" She watches as Brittany massages the Beagle's floppy ears. Winnie closes her eyes again and lets out a throaty moan. "Yes, right now, I think I am actually jealous of my own dog. You never scratch behind my ears like that."

Brittany smirks, keeping her eyes on the puppy in her lap. "Didn't know you liked stuff like this."

"Oh, yeah," Santana affirms, a mischievous look in her eyes as they travel down Brittany's body. "I'm a freak when it comes to the things I like."

Brittany laughs, shaking her head, because Santana always jokes around like this. She's all bark, no bite, her raspy voice riling Brittany up and up and up until...she gets distracted by something else and forgets about their current conversation.

Although Santana seems to have the attention span of gnat, Brittany finds the fast paste movement of her brain refreshing. The college student makes her think, pulls her out of her comfort zone, and gets her to try new things.

"Well..." Brittany drawls, deciding to play along. "Tell me what you like and I'll see what I can do."

"It depends on my mood." Shrugging a shoulder, Santana leans forward and takes Winnie out of Brittany's lap before placing her on the carpet. "Sometimes I like it nice and slow."

Now that Brittany's lap is free, Santana takes it upon herself to replace the empty spot and keep it warm, loosely wrapping her arms around Brittany's neck once she's comfortable.

"But when I'm feeling horny," Santana whispers, running her tongue over her bottom lip, blue eyes focused on nothing else but those amazing lips. "I like it rough and har-"

And then, her phone rings.

Their mouths are so damn close; if she leant forward just a centimeter, their lips would be touching, sliding together, hot tongues stroking the inside of each other's mouths recklessly.

But Santana's phone is still ringing, right in her jean pockets, so that's not exactly happening.

(This must be punishment for telling her niece Santa Clause gives birth to all babies, but only on Wednesdays.)

Santana keeps eye contact, blinking slowly as she tries to snap out of it. "It could be Blaine or Tina," she says, fingers playing with the small hairs on the back of Brittany's neck. "I gotta take this."

(Honestly, she almost forgot Santana's roommates were coming in the first place.)

Brittany nods, resting her forehead against Santana's chin. "I understand."

They're so close, Brittany can just taste her; she can feel every exhale of breath against her cheek, and it's driving her insane.

"I'm sorry," Santana apologizes.

Brittany pecks her on the lips, sending the younger woman a warm smile. "Don't be."

Quickly scooting out of Brittany's lap, Santana stands up from the couch and answers the phone. "Hello? Hey, Tina."

Brittany sits back on the couch comfortably, watching with a raised eyebrow as Santana's easygoing smile quickly turns into a frown.

"Fuck, really?" she exclaims, pacing towards the window to look outside. "Can't they just get some buckets and drain the water out or something? What...what do you mean that's not possible?"

Brittany looks back at the news; there's a man wearing a blue poncho standing in the middle of the storm, holding his hood over his head desperately as the wind tries to blow him away.

"Your boss is a fucking moron. He needs to man up and grow-...what do you mean don't finish that sentence? It's a free country, Cohen-Chang," Santana snaps, aggravated, her hand on her hip. "For the millionth time, I was born in this country. And you say _I'm _racist?"

Chewing on her bottom lip, Brittany tries to focus her attention on watching the news; she doesn't want it to look like she's eavesdropping, which she is, obviously, but that's rude, so she keeps her eyes forward.

"Yeah, okay. And tell Blaine to hang in there. His hair can't look _that _bad," Santana jokes, plopping back on the couch next to Brittany with a tired huff. "We're gonna try and wait for you as long as we can, but I'm already starving, so no promises. Alright, don't get mugged. Bye."

Santana sighs as she ends the call, tossing her phone to the other end of the couch before leaning her head against Brittany's shoulder.

"What happened?" Brittany asks gently, resting her chin on top of Santana's silky hair.

"Looks like it's just you and me for dinner," Santana mumbles, disappointed.

"Are they okay?" Brittany frowns, her eyes downcast, watching as Santana absentmindedly plays with the hem of the her loose Lady Gaga t-shirt.

About five hours ago, before Brittany even left her apartment, she was freaking out over what to wear and how to style her hair when Santana sent her a text which read;

_Don't worry about what to wear. I just want you to be yourself tonight, so dress as casual as possible. See you when you get here ;)_

"They're fine. Tina just likes being dramatic," Santana murmurs against the crook of her neck, rolling her eyes. "After all, she dressed like a vampire everyday our first two years of high school."

Brittany laughs, running her toes against Santana's heel when the brunette starts a game of footsie. "Let me guess..." she trails off, deep in thought. "She dressed like a vampire and you dressed as Storm, and you've been best friends ever since."

"I rebuke that," Santana gasps, trying to sound offended and failing at the same time; the deep dimples in her cheeks take away the affect. "I never dressed like Storm. During school hours."

The last three words are mumbled quietly under her breath, whispered lowly into Brittany's collarbone, but the blonde still hears it anyway. "So, you have then?"

"For Halloween," Santana tells her, shrugging a shoulder. "When I was like seven...teen, maybe."

Giggling at the blush rising on Santana's cheeks, Brittany pulls the brunette further into her, pressing a light kiss to her temple. "I gotta see a picture of that."

Santana shakes her head immediately, looking up at Brittany with wide eyes. "No, you can't," she says, bunching a handful of Brittanys shirt in her hand. "I burned them all."

(Lies.)

"Fibber," Brittany says cheekily, cocking her head to the side to try and catch Santana's eye. "You're a fibbing fibber who fibs."

Santana chuckles, opening her mouth to probably say something equally as ridiculous when another roll of thunder shakes the apartment. Following the roar of thunder is a flash of lightening in the sky that shines through the window and across the living room...or whatever they call this huge, open space.

"How long do you think they'll be?" Brittany asks worriedly.

Sure, she's nervous about meeting Santana's friends, but she doesn't want them to be stuck out in the storm. Before coming here, she hoped something would prolong their meet and greet, and it seems her wish came true.

(Be careful what you wish for, huh?)

"The police shut down the subway because of precautionary flooding or something," Santana explains, looking out the window with an equal look of concern etched across her soft features. "And there's no way they'd ever get here in a taxi with the way traffic is, so they went back to work to wait it out. Basically, it could be hours."

Brittany nods slightly, inhaling through her nose.

(Hours is good. Hours gives her enough time to stop inwardly hyperventilating.)

* * *

When Santana leaves the couch to check on their food in the oven, Brittany takes this opportunity to escape to the bathroom, set her thoughts straight, and take a deep breath.

She's never been this close to anyone before, or let anyone get this close to her. She's never gone this long without breaking someone's heart with the famous last words _this isn't working _or _it's not you, it's me._

She probably would have spoken these words to Santana by now if she wasn't so damn charmed by the girl. Everything Santana does is clumsy and unpracticed and completely random, yet she still seems so utterly perfect in Brittany's eyes.

(And it's driving the shit out of her.)

As long as Brittany stays away from the L word and makes sure Santana understands they're not girlfriends, things should stay the way they are.

(Yet...)

There's something in Santana's eyes whenever she looks at her, and sometimes, it's a little unnerving. That lingering gaze; it's like Santana looks up to her - and not only because Brittany's taller.

That deep look; it's like the college student expects so much out of her, yet all Brittany has to offer is an uneasy smile and an audible gulp whenever she catches Santana looking at her like that.

Quinn teases her all the time about how the brunette is falling harder and harder each and everyday. She tells Brittany how Santana's behavior has changed at work recently; how she seems to smile bashfully whenever Brittany's mentioned, or how she spaces out and gets the wrong coffee order whenever she's sent out on an errand.

Though, it seems good things are coming out of their relationship as well. Just yesterday, Quinn expressed to Brittany how Santana's come out of her shell more, actually cracking smiles at her colleagues, engaging in conversation, and speaking up about her thoughts and ideas.

Brittany's not full of herself or anything, so she won't immediately say these changes are because of her, but it is quite coincidental that the changes happened soon after Brittany came into the young woman's life.

Predictably, all of this is too much for Brittany so soon. It's only been three months. Nobody falls in love that fast, right?

(Right?)

She's not really sure, and that's why she finds herself frantically dialing Kurt's number as soon as she's safely inside the bathroom.

"Kurt," she whispers desperately, as soon as he picks up. "I need your help."

Kurt sighs tiredly. _"Brittany, I'm watching my Saturday night TV shows. I don't have time to play spy with you."_

"This is no game." Brittany sits down on the toilet seat, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "This is a matter of life or death. I'm at Santana's place right now, about to meet her friends, and I'm nervous, Kurt. Nervous."

(And she's never nervous. Like, ever.)

_"Calm down," _Kurt tells her. _"Just calm down and take a deep breath."_

Brittany follows her friend's instructions and takes a steady breath, filling her lungs with a ton of air before releasing it out into the atmosphere.

_"Britt, you never get nervous," _Kurt points out needlessly. _"Why are you so bent out of shape about this?"_

"Because this is uncharted territory," Brittany explains, leaning forward on her elbows. "I've never gone this deep into a relationship before. Kurt, I think I just lost my relationship virginity."

_"You have seriously gone off the deep end," _Kurt mutters dryly. _"And what's the big deal anyway? I thought you said she was your soulmate?"_

"That was before I found out how old she was," Brittany exasperates, her voice rising slightly. "C'mon, keep up, Kurt."

_"I apologize, Brittany," _Kurt huffs indignantly, just as loud._ "But it's a little hard to when your emotions keep going up and down like a damn roller coaster."_

Brittany rolls her eyes. _"No need to get huffy with me, Kurt. All I need is some advice," _she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. _"What do I do?"_

It's silent for awhile as Brittany waits for a response. After what feels like forever, Kurt lets out a sigh of exhaustion through the line.

_"Okay, here's the problem," _he begins knowingly. _"You're more focused on what you want rather than what you need."_

Brittany bites her tongue, glancing up at the ceiling, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

_"I mean, who says Santana's not your soulmate or whatever?" _Kurt wonders aloud. _"Sure, she's unconventional and not what you were expecting at this time in your life, but maybe that's the whole point."_

"Still not following, Kurt," Brittany mumbles slowly, biting on the tip of her thumbnail.

Kurt huffs again, and Brittany really contemplates hanging up on him and calling Quinn instead. _"The universe, or whatever you like to call it, is trying to tell you to stop searching because all you need is right in front of your face," _he explains patiently, sensing Brittany's confusion through the phone.

"And how would you know?" Brittany asks stubbornly, her eyebrows furrowed. "Are you on a first name basis with the universe or something now?"

_"Yeah, we talk to each other every Thursday night," _Kurt deadpans smartly. _"And he told me Santana's your soulmate."_

"Ha!" Brittany exclaims suddenly. "That was a trick question, because the universe is a woman!"

_"Brittany, do you want my advice or not?" _Kurt asks, growing more annoyed the longer this conversation goes on. _"I could be watching Fashion Police right now, but instead, I'm arguing with you, which is shockingly way less entertaining than Joan Rivers' insults."_

(Well, then.)

"I do want your advice," Brittany responds meekly, rubbing her toes through the fuzzy, bathroom rug. "That's why I called in the first place."

_"Then I suggest you get your stubborn keester off of her toilet seat and back out there."_

Brittany pauses, glancing around the bathroom cautiously. "How'd you know I was in her bathroom?"

(If there's any hidden cameras in here, she's glad she didn't use the toilet.)

Despite the irritation behind missing his favorite TV show, Kurt lets out a soft chuckle. _"The bathroom is always the place people go when they're postponing the inevitable."_

"Wow," Brittany murmurs, slightly impressed. "You're like the Yoda of complicated relationships."

_"You're speaking with a pro here, sweetie," _he brags, most likely primping his hair smugly. _"Now, put on your big girl panties and forget all about babies and marriage and weddings."_

Brittany pouts. "Forget about it?"

_"It's the only way, hon," _Kurt tells her regretfully. _"And seriously, who needs that stuff when you got a hot twenty-one year old cooking dinner for you?"_

Brittany hates to admit it, but Kurt's right. What the hell is she doing moping around in a cramped bathroom when Santana's outside waiting for her?

_"Here I am home alone while you're stuck in an empty apartment during a storm with nothing to do," _Kurt mumbles sarcastically. _"Oh, you poor dear, how will you ever survive?"_

Before Brittany has a chance to respond, there's a light knock on the door, startling the blonde into almost dropping her phone. She fumbles with it for a moment, but when it's secure in her hands again, she lets out a breath of relief.

"Britt," a voice calls out from the other side of the door. "You alright in there?"

Brittany's eyes dart to the door. "Yeah, I'm fine, just...you know," she stammers, clearing her throat as she stands up awkwardly. "I'll...um, um, I'll be right out."

_"Smooth,"_ Kurt cuts in swiftly.

"Shut up."

"I didn't even say anything," Santana mumbles, confused.

"No, not you," Brittany rushes to say. "I was, um...talking to myself?"

"Oh...okay," Santana drawls out, stalling for a moment before adding, "Well, when you're finished, I'll be waiting on the couch."

Brittany clenches her eyes shut. "Okay," she squeaks, massaging her left temple with a grimace.

_"If that wasn't the most awkward conversation I've ever had to listen to..."_

Brittany huffs as she turns her back against the door and leans her head on the wood. "I gotta go, Kurt," she sighs, grabbing the doorknob. "Before she thinks I'm insane, or on drugs, or something."

_"Too late for that,"_ Kurt points out. _"She already heard you telling yourself to shut up."_

(And again, he makes a good point.)

"Any last minute advice?"

Kurt hums in contemplation. _"Just drink some wine, have a bunch of hot sex, and then watch Friends," _he advises. _"Or whatever it is you lesbians do for fun."_

Brittany rolls her eyes as she turns the doorknob to exit the bathroom. "Thanks, Kurt," she whispers, pulling the phone away from her ear.

_"Anytime, honey," _she hears just as she's pressing the end call button.

Pausing in the middle of the hallway, she takes a moment to inhale through her nose, exhale through her mouth, before joining Santana back on the couch.

Santana's eyes are glued blankly to the news as she sips on a bottle of beer, but when she sees Brittany reenter the room, a broad smile stretches across Santana's cheeks, her mocha eyes no doubt sending Brittany _the look_.

Ignoring the relentless nagging in the back of her head to run and hide, Brittany accepts the beer Santana hands out to her and smiles when the younger woman opens her arms with a smirk.

"Had a good time in there?" Santana teases, grabbing Brittany's hand and pulling her on to the couch with a tug of her arm, almost making Brittany spill her beer.

Brittany rolls her eyes as she wraps her left arm comfortably around Santana's waist. "Yeah, I had an awesome time in your bathroom," she drawls sarcastically, taking a sip from her bottle. "But I know how we can have an awesome time in _your _room."

Santana snorts, almost choking on her beer. "Is that right?"

"Mhm," Brittany hums, bouncing her eyebrows up and down suggestively. She's just about to make another sly comment when all of a sudden, the television goes out after a loud roar of thunder. Following the thunder, lightening flashes, making the lights go out as well.

They sit silently in the dark for a moment, just breathing steadily until Santana grumbles unhappily and mutters, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

* * *

Santana can't find any flashlights, so she gets some candles and sets them around the apartment. Brittany helps, placing them on top of high bookcases and the television set where Santana can't reach.

When Santana finishes lighting up the last candle, she catches Brittany's eye and blows out the match with pursed lips.

(The sight is more arousing than Brittany thinks it should be.)

"You know, this is kind of romantic," Santana admits as she looks around the room and admires her work. The candlelight flicks across the walls and casts a sultry shadow over half of Santana's face. "You know what else would be romantic?"

(Brittany kind of thinks she does.)

"Strip poker."

(Or maybe she doesn't.)

Brittany quirks an eyebrow as she lays on the couch and settles under the blanket Santana brought out from her room. "But I don't know how to play poker."

"Lucky me," Santana singsongs, smiling wickedly as she sits on the coffee table beside the couch. "Looks like I'm gonna be saying the phrase _take it off_ a lot this evening."

"That's not fair," Brittany pouts, propping herself up on her elbow. "I'll be naked way before I even get you to take your socks off."

Santana shrugs. "I see no problem with that."

(Brittany sees a lot of problems with that.)

"How about we play something we both know?" she suggests, raising her eyebrows. "Like charades."

"Strip charades?" Santana chuckles, considering the idea with a contemplating hum. "Is that even possible with two people? What about Pictionary?"

"Nu-uh," is Brittany's immediate answer, because over the last couple of months, she's seen a few of Santana's sketches, and they're extraordinary. The woman could've definitely gone to art school if she really wanted to. "That's not fair either. You're a way better drawer than me."

Santana's brows dip in concentration as she tries to come up with another grand idea, her eyes widening in enlightenment when a thought finally hits her. "Guess That Word. If you get a word wrong, you have to remove a piece of clothing, and vice versa."

Brittany doesn't even get a chance to open her mouth before Santana is shooting up from the coffee table and picking up Winnie from off the floor.

"I'll go get the cards out of Blaine's room."

* * *

"Okay, they live in the desert and, uh...they like to spit a lot."

"Cow. Giraffe. Lion. Rabbit."

Brittany smiles, shaking her head. "They have bumps on their backs and they're all hairy and tall and stuff..."

"Giraffe. Elephant. Turtle," Santana fires off quickly, eyes wide in urgency. "Zebra. Squid. Frog."

The timer rings, and Brittany smirks as she turns her card around to show Santana what the correct answer was.

"Seriously? A camel?" Santana groans, standing up to unzip her pants. "I think you're cheating."

"You weren't even trying to think of what it could be based on my clues. And you said giraffe like twice," Brittany points out with a shrug, blue eyes glued to tanned, caramel skin as Santana strips out of her skinny jeans with a grunt. "Don't be a sore loser. I mean, frog? I said it was tall and hairy."

"Frogs could be tall and hairy," Santana chuckles as she resets the timer and picks up a card from off the pile. "Have an imagination, Britt."

Brittany rolls her eyes. "You're just mad because I'm still fully dressed, and you're in nothing but your bra and cute little undies."

"Not for long, Britt. Not for long," Santana smirks, pressing a button on the timer before looking back at her card. "You can find this at the grocery sto-"

"Pineapples."

Santana curses under her breath, flicking the card up in the air. "Okay, you're definitely cheating," she accuses, pointing a finger at Brittany. "There's no way you could have guessed pineapple out of all the other foods in a grocery store."

Brittany places a hand innocently against her chest. "Are you insulting my intelligence, San?" she questions, pressing her lips together. When Santana remains silent, fiddling with her bra strap anxiously, Brittany smirks, leans forward and teasingly whispers, "Show me those twins, babe."

Santana shivers visibly at Brittany's words as she lifts her gaze. She stares the blonde straight in the eyes, her hands lifting her hair over her shoulder before unsnapping her bra.

Brittany watches, her mouth going dry as Santana stands and slips the straps down her arms and discards the pink bra somewhere on the floor.

"Better?" Santana sends her a crooked smile, watching Brittany as Brittany watches her, blue eyes trailing all over her body, up her smooth legs, lingering on her small panties, across her firm stomach, pausing at her perky breasts and erect nipples, before finally stopping at Santana's face.

Nodding slowly, Brittany licks her lips in appreciation and mumbles, "Much better."

Half-naked, Santana sits back down on the coffee table, crossing her arms over her chest to keep Brittany from getting too distracted, and picks up another card. "Your turn," she whispers, handing the card over.

To both their surprise, Brittany loses the next three rounds, thus discarding her socks, shirt, and jeans, all in that order. Brittany's never been ashamed or embarrassed about her body, but knowing Santana is so much younger and more fit than her is a little intimidating as she removes her clothes.

She should be anxious or nervous about Santana seeing the parts of her body that aren't as tight or smooth as they used to be, but the way Santana's looking at her, with those deep brown eyes, makes it impossible for Brittany to feel anything else but extremely sexy under Santana's lingering gaze.

Finally, after going on a losing spree for way too long, Brittany wins the next round, meaning she's the ultimate winner and gets to receive the ultimate prize; watch Santana strip out of her panties.

Santana huffs when the timer buzzes, because she knows what that sound means. Brittany doesn't say a word as Santana stands up from the coffee table, arms still covering her exposed chest.

After a moment of hesitation, Santana sighs through her nose and admits, "This is not how I expected this evening to turn out."

(Her and Brittany both.)

She looks embarrassed, Brittany notes, but more out of losing than having to stand nude in all of her unabashed glory.

"_You're _the one who wanted to play this game in the first place," Brittany points out, smiling at the way Santana rolls her eyes childishly.

"Yeah, I know," she mutters with a small smile, curling her toes into the rug. "But I was suppose to win. Not _you_."

Brittany's just about as naked as Santana, and the brunette may not know this, but as soon as she removes the rest of her clothes, so will Brittany.

(Basically, it's a win-win situation.)

Beckoning Santana near, Brittany holds out her hand and smiles when their fingers automatically lace together.

She's not going to make Santana take her clothes off if it makes her uncomfortable, because that's like rape or something, so Brittany gives Santana an understanding nod, expecting the younger woman to put her clothes back on, but instead, Santana takes a step closer and whispers, "The only way these panties are coming off is if you take them off for me."

Brittany remains silent, her eyes widening, because of all things, she really wasn't expecting that.

(But when life gives you lemons...)

Brittany swallows shakily, lifting her arms and resting her hands on Santana's hips, right above the hem of her underwear. "Are you sure?" she murmurs, blue eyes never leaving brown. "You seemed apprehensive before."

Instead of offering up an explanation, Santana leans forward and kisses her softly, and Brittany takes this as a thumbs up to continue. She dips her fingers into Santana's panties, slowly spreading her legs for Santana to settle between as she tugs down on the fabric until the underwear is pooled around her ankles on the floor.

Santana's kissing her so hard and thoroughly that Brittany doesn't even get a chance to admire the view, the younger woman settling into her lap as she straddles her hips and presses their bodies close together.

Brittany arches her back when Santana fumbles around to unhook her bra, smiling against her lips in victory when she finally slides the bra off of Brittany's arms and it falls down into the couch somewhere.

This is the most aggressive they've ever kissed, all teeth and tongue, biting and nibbling on sensitive skin as their hips grind into each other's searching for some kind of friction, some kind of release from all of this pent up sexual frustration they've been unknowingly carrying around for the past three months now.

Brittany's hands trail up the back of Santana's thighs, pulling her closer as she bites down on the other woman's lip, eliciting a small whimper. Santana breaks away from Brittany's hot tongue, leaving open-mouthed kisses down her jawline and toward her neck before stopping abruptly.

Brittany's eyes snap open, breathing heavily as Santana tries to catch her breath in the crook of her neck. "What's wrong? Why'd you stop?" she asks huskily, her hands gripping Santana's thighs so hard, she swears she's leaving nail marks in her skin.

"Tina's grandma gave her this couch," Santana whispers into her ear, and even though the brunette just mentioned an elderly woman during one of the best foreplay of Brittany's life, she has never been more turned on by the rasp of Santana's voice. "She'd kill me if she knew we had sex on it."

Santana pushes of the couch, making sure not to crush Brittany, and holds out her hand. Brittany takes it easily, following Santana down a dark hallway once she's on her feet.

"Where are we going?"

"My room," Santana throws over her shoulder, squeezing Brittany's hand, and that's all the certification she needs to know they're really going to do this.

Brittany enters the bedroom behind Santana, but when she tries to reach for a handle to close the door, she comes up empty. "Where is your door?" She feels around the doorframe for any hinges, but can't even tell where anything considering it's pitch black in here.

"Don't have one."

Santana's voice sounds far away, and Brittany stretches her arms out as she searches for the other woman, or a bed, or _something_.

"You don't have a door?" Brittany questions, puzzlement lacing her tone, because she's never heard of such a thing.

"No," Santana admits, sounding a bit sheepish. "But I can pull back the curtain if it'll make you feel more comfortable."

A curtain sounds like a good idea, and Brittany's just about to tell Santana this when she steps on something sharp and almost trips to the floor, strong arms catching her at the last minute and holding her close.

Santana chuckles, arms wrapped tightly around Brittany's waist as she tries to steady her. "Sorry about the mess," she apologizes in a whisper, hands traveling down Brittany's body as she walks them backwards.

Since it's literally pitch black, Brittany can't really see what mess Santana's talking about, so she shrugs it off and says, "Don't worry about it. As long as there's no pins in your bed, I'm good."

Santana snorts in laughter right as the back of Brittany's knees hit a soft surface, causing her to fall back, Santana following right after and landing heavily on her stomach.

"Oomph," Brittany groans, all of the wind getting knocked out of her.

"Sorry," Santana mumbles, lifting her body to give Brittany some space to breathe. "I could've sworn my bed was at least three more steps away."

Although that landing did hurt a little, Brittany waves it off with a giggle, pulling Santana flush against her body again. It's impossible to explain how much warmer she feels once Santana's bare body molds perfectly into hers.

Even though everything about their journey into this room was clumsy, their lips meet quite easily, perfectly sliding together as their groove from before picks up without missing a beat.

Brittany bends her knees, spreading her legs as Santana settles between them, her warm heat rocking against Brittany rhythmically and on time with the push and pull of their smooth kisses.

A hand creeps up her stomach and lands on her breast, squeezing hesitantly at first, and when Brittany's first reaction is a tiny groan and the buck of her hips, Santana squeezes again, a lot harder this time, pinching and tweaking her nipple.

Their hips grind together, but Brittany can only feel so much through the wetness of her panties, moaning in frustration when her throbbing center aches for more.

Santana, seemingly reading Brittany's thoughts, takes her other breast into her mouth, circling her tongue around the nipple as she slowly slips Brittany's panties down, the blonde lifting her lips to help out and speed up the process.

Once she's free of all restrictions, she lets her hands wander, fingers tickling up Santana's back, teeth nibbling down her collarbone, nails scratching up her shoulders when Santana cups her center without warning.

Without thinking, Brittany bucks up into Santana's hand, releasing a groan when the other woman beginnings to stroke her freely, fingers dipping between her folds experimentally to see how Brittany reacts.

Rotating her hips into a prodding hand, Santana adds yet another finger, her even breathes hitting Brittany's neck as she thrusts her wrist in time with Brittany's grinding, taking in the high-pitched noises she makes whenever her thumb presses against her clit and circles it teasingly.

Brittany can feel the heaviness in her stomach building as she continues to rock into Santana's hand, the brunette pumping her fingers in and out with only one goal in mind.

Santana kisses up her chin, whispering words like _you look so beautiful _and _come for me, baby,_ sending Brittany right over the edge, Santana capturing her lips and successfully swallowing her moans.

The brunette continues to hold her through her orgasm, pressing light kisses across her sweaty forehead, her fingers circling her sensitive nub soothingly until she's fully come down from her high.

Brittany pants against Santana's shoulder as the younger woman curls up next to her, pushing a few strands of hair out of her face and kissing her sweetly on the cheek.

Her chest continues to heave up and down, the beat of her heart slowly decreasing in speed as she throws her head back against a pillow and wraps her arm around Santana's waist, bringing her as close to her trembling body as possible.

"God, that was..." Brittany breathes out, shaking her head in disbelief, because that was the best sex she's ever had. Nobody's ever riled her up that fast and completely lived up to her standards before.

(Which is pretty embarrassing considering she's fucking twenty-eight years old.)

"Mhm," Santana hums, smiling against her shoulder as she leaves a lingering kiss there. Brittany can feel the wry grin against her skin and can't help but grin herself.

There's no doubt Santana just tired her out. Brittany's almost at the age where she needs naps after every orgasm, but she doesn't want Santana to think she's an old woman, so she quickly rolls over, catching Santana by surprise as she hovers over the other woman and nuzzles her nose against Santana's cheek.

"Ready for round two?" she asks, trailing a multitude of kisses across Santana's face and down her flat stomach.

Personally, she could go all night. Fuck her tired muscles and lack of stamina. The adrenaline rushing through her veins is all she needs to make Santana feel just as good as she made her feel.

Santana runs a hand through Brittany's hair, her grip tightening when Brittany presses an open-mouthed kiss against her wet heat, causing the brunette to release a whimper and thrust her hips into Brittany's intruding tongue.

"Fuck," Santana breathes out through gritted teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as Brittany presses her thumb against a hard nub and licks up her slit painfully slow. "Fucking fuck..."

(Looks like we got ourselves a screamer.)

* * *

"This line, from your pinkie to your index finger," Brittany whispers, faintly tracing a crease across Santana's left hand. "This is your heart line. It's believed to indicate emotional stability and romantic perspectives."

Santana keeps silent as she tries to squint through the darkness surrounding them. "And what does it say?"

Brittany presses her finger into the line of Santana's palm, concentrating on where the crease starts and ends since she can't see it for herself, so she feels. "Your heart line begins right in the middle of your hand," Brittany explains softly, leaving a light kiss in Santana's palm. "It means you fall in love easily."

Brittany bites her lower lip and sighs through her nose. She knows this discovery should bother her, but her mind is too relaxed right now to overanalyze the implications.

"And this line, right here," Brittany says, pressing hard into the crease underneath Santana's heart line. "This is your head line. It's separated from your life line, meaning you're very adventurous and have a great enthusiasm for life."

"What about this line?" Santana takes ahold of Brittany's index finger and presses the tip of it against the crease curling around her thumb.

Brittany smiles, shifting closer to Santana. "That's your life line," she tells her, placing her palm flat against the younger woman's hand. "This line is long and deep, just like mine."

Santana intertwines their fingers. "And what does that mean?"

"Vitality," Brittany whispers as she rolls onto her side, pulling up the thin sheets to cover her chest.

Santana pecks her softly on the lips and smiles, pecking her again and again and again the more Brittany smiles back. Though the blonde's smile instantly falls when she hears a faint thud coming from the front of the apartment.

Brittany's head pops up, mistakenly dodging Santana's next kiss. "Did you hear that?"

Santana furrows her brows and sits up, clutching the sheets as she holds them over her bosom.

_"Santana, you home?"_

"Fuck," she curses, palming at her eyes in frustration. "They pick _now _to come home?"

Groaning in annoyance, Santana cups Brittany's chin and plants a wet kiss against her thin lips before jumping out of bed, Brittany giggling in amusement as she follows suit.

They scramble around the room, tossing on clothes and underwear. Brittany quickly tugs on the shirt and shorts Santana hands her, but since it's so dark, Santana can't find a shirt for herself, still running around in search for something, _anything _to cover her exposed chest.

Resisting the urge to laugh, Brittany picks up a tank top she finds thrown carelessly on floor and slides it over Santana's head after the brunette tugs her panties back on.

Brittany smirks when Santana can't find any pants either, but the sound of footsteps are getting closer and closer, so Santana just gives up and stretches her shirt down before scurrying out of the room behind Brittany.

They didn't put any candles in the hallway, so as soon as they step out of Santana's room, Brittany crashes into a body and almost topples over, Santana grabbing her waist with a chuckle to steady her.

"Santana, is that you?"

"Blaine?"

"No, it's Tina."

"Where's Blaine?"

"Right here."

"Everyone, to the kitchen!"

Brittany's not sure who's saying what, or in which direction those voices are coming from, but all she can feel is two hands on her hips, pushing her forward, so she carefully takes a few steps until she's back in the candlelight of the kitchen.

The first thing she sees when she looks over her shoulder is Santana smirking in amusement, and when she follows her line a vision, Brittany can kind of understand what's so funny.

"Your hair looks like a burnt shrub, Blaine," Santana chuckles, pointing at the her friend's thick curls. Next to him is a woman a little shorter than herself, peeling off her wet coat and draping it over a chair.

(Just a wild guess, but she thinks that's Tina.)

"And your hair looks like you got it stuck in a ceiling fan," Blaine bites back, amused. "San, what did I tell you about jumping on the bed?"

"Shut up, goblin," Santana growls playfully, glancing at Brittany out of the corner of her eye. She ducks her head and whispers, "That only happened once."

"Santana, you're not wearing any pants," Tina points out, her eyebrows dipped in question.

Brittany's pretty sure Santana knew she wasn't wearing any pants, but she feigns surprised anyway and says, "Oh, I was wondering where that draft was coming from."

Blaine covers his eyes. "Jeez, Santana. Put some clothes on."

Letting go of Brittany's hand, Santana pulls her long tank top back down to her knees. "Well, I'm gonna go do that," she mumbles, backing out of the kitchen. "Babe, this is Asian Persuasion, and that's Bow Tie. Make nice, everyone."

(_No, don't go_, Brittany wants to yell, but that seems a little dramatic, so she remains silent.)

Pasting on a friendly smile, Tina extends her hand. "Tina," she says in leu of greeting. "And you must be Nicole." She looks at Brittany expectantly before shifting her gaze to Blaine. "Or was tonight Leslie?"

Brittany freezes, her hand still clasped in Tina's hand, face turning ghostly pale and draining of all color. "I, um..." she stutters, feeling completely blindsided. "No, I'm not-"

"She's kidding." Blaine gives Tina a pointed look out of the corner of his eye, shaking his head in disapproval. "This one here has a sick sense of humor. You'll get used to it."

(She's not really sure if she wants to.)

Brittany knows Santana has every right to see whoever she pleases since they're not exactly exclusive, but she can't help but feel relieved to discover there's no Nicole or Leslie in Santana's love life, nor sleeping around in Santana's bed.

(At least, she hopes not.)

With an uneasy smile, Brittany continues shaking Tina's hand before awkwardly letting go. "Good one," she murmurs, scuffing her barefoot against the hardwood floor.

Tina shrugs, smiling from ear to ear in amusement. "I have my moments," she says, looking Brittany up and down with a raised eyebrow.

"Brittany, right?" Blaine asks, unwrapping a red and white scarf from around his neck. "I'm Blaine."

Nodding her head, Brittany smiles kindly. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too. Finally," he adds, leaning an elbow on the kitchen counter. "Santana's told us only good things about you."

"Did she tell you I can play the guitar?"

Tina knits her eyebrows in confusion. "No."

"Good, because I can't," Brittany tells them, shrugging a shoulder. "Now I know she's not a compulsive liar."

Blaine chuckles, and Brittany smiles, glad he gets the joke, yet all Tina does is look her over critically, her beady eyes seemingly looking for something wrong with her. And before Brittany can say another word, Tina's turning around and walking out of the kitchen.

"Ignore her," Blaine advises, hopping up onto the countertop. "Tina's just really protective of Santana. Wants to make sure you're willing to stick around, I guess."

(Is she really that transparent?)

Brittany furrows her eyebrows, leaning forward on her elbows beside Blaine. "Stick around?"

Blaine scratches the side of his matted hair, head cocked to the side. "Santana," he begins in a whisper, his eyes focused on the kitchen entrance cautiously. "She may not be a liar, but she is pretty compulsive. After all, she's always been into more mature women for a reas-"

"Blaine, why don't you go make yourself busy and eat some cereal?" Santana emerges from the back room, lips set into a frown until her eyes set on Brittany, that same heart rendering smile breaking across her cheeks.

"Cereal?" Blaine questions, looking back and forth between Brittany and Santana. "What about dinner?"

"Cereal is dinner," Santana chuckles, throwing the cabinets open in search for something edible. "If you haven't noticed, it's pitch black in here. The power is out, so there's no way we can heat up the food."

Blaine glances around the dark kitchen, seemingly just noticing their only supply of light is the dozens of candles set around haphazardly. "Well, that blows."

Setting down a stack of bowls, Santana raises an eyebrow with a wry grin. "Oh, I know of someone who blows regularly," she teases suggestively. "And it has nothing to do with lack of hunger."

Brittany crinkles her nose, averting her eyes to the milk she's pouring into her bowl of cereal. "San," she sighs, shaking her head. "That's gross. We're about to eat."

Santana circles the counter, her arms wrapping around Brittany's waist from behind. "Eat what exactly?"

Ignoring Blaine's insistent gagging in the background, Brittany bends her head back against Santana's shoulder, kissing her firmly on the lips.

Telling herself it's just to shut the younger woman up so she can eat her cereal without thinking about...other things, she sucks on Santana's upper lip and swipes her tongue inside her mouth, giggling when Santana squeezes her waist and tickles her sides.

"What took you so long?" Brittany whispers against her lips. "I was dying out here."

"Sorry," Santana whispers back apologetically, leaning her chin against Brittany's shoulder. "Had to clean up all of our clothes in the living room from our little game earlier."

Brittany's eye widen momentarily; she completely forgot about that. "Oh..." she murmurs, her face instantly heating up.

"Yeah, _oh_," Santana mimics teasingly, kissing her on the cheek before moving away to fix her own bowl of cereal.

* * *

"I feel like we're about to have a séance." Tina enters the living room area with a smirk, taking a seat on the carpet next to Blaine. "Let's all hold hands and try to speak to the underworld."

Brittany bites the corner of her lip, subtly scooting a little closer to Santana.

Blaine has been great at making her feel welcomed, asking her questions about where she went to school, how long she's been living in the city, etc.

But Tina?

Yeah, she kind of scares Brittany. Ever since she disappeared about twenty minutes ago, Brittany's been hoping she wouldn't come back in order to avoid her passive aggressive attitude.

She understands Tina is just looking out for her friend, but no matter who it's coming from, Brittany's never been very good at dealing with conflict or confrontation.

"Let's _not _and say we did," Santana shoots back, smiling slyly as she licks her spoon clean of the vanilla ice cream she's eating. "As a matter of fact, let's not say we did either."

After they finished eating their cereal, Blaine complained about still being hungry, and Brittany had to agree, she was pretty famished as well, because she withheld from eating breakfast and lunch today.

She tries to tell herself it was because she wanted to make room for Santana's food, but truthfully, it was because she was so nervous, she couldn't stomach anything without feeling nauseous.

Tina grabs a throw pillow from off the couch and hugs it close to her chest. "You're not ashamed of your besties, are you, Santana?"

"No, I just don't know where your hands have been, Tina."

Tina rolls her eyes. "Oh, sure, I have the dirty fingers when I've been stuck at work with Blaine all day," she starts, grabbing a handful of chips from off the coffee table. "While you were here all alone for hours with your girlfriend."

Brittany almost chokes on her spoonful of ice cream, desperately coughing into her fist. Santana rubs her back soothingly, quirking an eyebrow in question.

Sensing the odd tension surrounding the women around him, Blaine leans forward and clears his throat. "So, Britt. Can I call you Britt?"

"No, only I can call her that," Santana cuts in, placing her hand on Brittany's knee.

"As you said before, Santana," Tina murmurs as she chews her food and swallows thickly. "It's a free country. Blaine can call her whatever she wants, right, Brittany?"

Brittany opens her mouth to protest, but before she can-

"I guess that gives me the right to call you Squints-A-Lot," Santana mentions offhandedly, stirring her soupy ice cream around in circles.

"No, that's racist, not a nickname."

"It _is _a nickname," Santana insists, her hand unconsciously trailing down Brittany's thigh. "A racist nickname."

Tina stares at her in confusion before nodding slowly. "Yeah, same thing."

"No, it's not the same thi-"

"Blaine," Brittany turns her head, smiling hesitantly at the dark-haired man. "Were you about to ask me something?"

Blaine quirks an eyebrow before a light bulb switches on. "Oh, right," he snaps his fingers in remembrance, stretching out his legs. "Santana tells me you work for a fashion company. I happen to be quite the trendsetter out of my friends, you know."

Santana doesn't even try to hide her scoff.

Blaine smirks, hazel eyes squinted in his friend's direction. "Is there something stuck in your throat, Santana?" he questions, grinning mockingly. "Because if not, I really think you should get that strange sound checked out."

"The only thing stuck in my throat is the gag I'm desperately trying to hold down," she banters jokingly, her upper lip twitching up into a smirk as she removes her hand from Brittany's inner thigh. "You, a trendsetter?"

Fiddling with his bow tie, Blaine arches an eyebrow, lips pursed knowingly. "Says the girl who has her shirt on backwards."

Biting her tongue guiltily, Brittany slowly raises her hand. "Actually, that's my fault," she confesses, smiling at the way Santana's face heats up adorably. "Sorry."

Leaning in closer to Brittany, Santana lowers her head and whispers, "Don't be sorry. This shirt will be coming back off later anyway."

Apparently having heard, considering he's only three feet away, Blaine scrunches up his nose and shakes his head vehemently. "I could've gone my whole life without knowing that."

* * *

Somehow, Santana convinces Brittany to stay the night. Maybe it's because it's still raining buckets outside, or maybe it's just because Santana's really good with words.

She suspects it's the latter though, because if this was someone she didn't like, she wouldn't let anything - not even a flooding hurricane - keep her here.

Actually, she's happy Santana has an excuse to make her stay, because even it was a clear night, Brittany wouldn't want to be away from Santana and her soothing touch for even a moment.

The storm has calmed down a bit since it first began, light rain continuing to beat down against the windowsill gently, a vast contrast to the bullets crashing down from the sky earlier this evening.

Brittany would be worried about Lord Tubbington being home alone if he didn't like the sound of storms so much; it puts him right to sleep, just like Winnie, it seems.

They're laying in bed together, fully clothed, legs tangled under the covers carelessly. Brittany has her arms wrapped around Santana's torso, chin on her shoulder, listening closely to Santana's mouth breathing.

(Over the last couple of months, it's become her favorite sound.)

"I have a secret."

Brittany opens her eyes sleepily, yet all she can see is darkness. "Yeah?"

Santana shifts in her arms, and Brittany closes her eyes again when she feels a finger tentatively trace the edge of her cheekbone. "I only see in black and white."

(Brittany knows Santana loves old films, but she's not gonna fall for that one.)

"Sure, and I see in sepia," Brittany murmurs smartly, covering Santana's hand with hers and holding it against her cheek. "No, wait, even better, I see in rainbow."

Santana snorts as she rolls over onto her stomach, resting her head against Brittany's shoulder. "No, I'm serious," she whispers, her raspy voice higher than usual. "It's like, with you, there's no gray or beige or tan or-"

"Purple," Brittany adds, raking her fingers through Santana's curly locks.

"Or purple." Santana smiles sweetly and nods in agreement. "I either know, or I don't know."

After a moment of thought, Brittany presses her lips together and lifts an eyebrow. "I'm not really sure what you're trying to say, San."

Santana lets out a breath of air. "If I knew how hard this was gonna be," she begins in a rush, exhaling a gust of air, her back rising and falling. "I would've written it down on a piece of paper and hid it under this pillow or something."

"Slow down, babe," Brittany giggles, pecking Santana on the cheek twice with an unwavering smile. "Just tell me what you're thinking."

"I think I'm about to puke," Santana mumbles jokingly, burying her face into the crook of Brittany's neck.

"Then maybe you should sit up," Brittany teases, sliding her hand down Santana's back, massaging between her shoulder blades comfortingly.

Santana slowly sits up with a hesitant grin and grabs her phone from off her nightstand. The whole room glows in a blue hue when she turns on the phone.

Brittany squints her eyes in the light, but Santana's eyes are the darkest she's ever seen them as the younger woman wrings her fingers in her lap.

"Okay, here goes nothing," she mutters under her breath, licking her lips nervously. "There's no way around it, under it, or through it. I'm in love with you, Britt."

Brittany blinks.

(Shit.)

Refusing to let Brittany's lack of response get to her, Santana laces their fingers together and pushes on. "I only see things in black and white, so I'm either in love or I'm not," she explains, swallowing thickly. "And I know it's only been three months, but going by the way my heart beats whenever you look at me, or touch me, or kiss me, I know its gotta be love."

(At this point, speechlessness is an understatement.)

If Brittany were standing up, her jaw would have totally hit the floor by now. She doesn't know what to say, but this time she knows changing the subject isn't going to work in her favor.

Sliding up into a sitting position, Brittany rests her back against the headboard and searches for something intelligible to say, _anything _to say at this point.

"San, I-"

Santana squeezes her hand firmly before she can even get three words out. "Don't feel obligated to say it back," she whispers, rubbing her thumb over Brittany's knuckles. "When you say it, and believe me, I'll get you to say it one of these days, I want you to mean it."

Brittany finally glances up and inhales at what she sees. Like always, Santana's still smiling softly, big brown eyes bright in understanding.

(She almost looks...relieved?)

Brittany wonders how long she's felt this way. Obviously she had been thinking about telling her for awhile now, but for how long?

A knot forms in her stomach at the thought. She doesn't want to be one of those people who everyone looks down on in the movies. She doesn't want to be the heartbreaker.

She never ever wanted to string Santana along, but she's just been having so much fun experiencing life and her youth again with a college student that time got away from her and she lost track of her original plan to keep things casual.

"Hey, look at me."

Santana runs her fingers up Brittany's jawline, tilting her chin downward so they're now eye to eye, the brunette holding her face firmly in place so she can't look away.

"I don't want anything to be awkward between us now that my feelings are out there and everything," she whispers, blinking her eyes slowly. "I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

"No, no," Brittany shakes her head and gazes down at Santana with a shaky smile. "I'm just a little surprised is all. Didn't really see that confession coming."

(Another understatement.)

Sighing through her nose, Brittany runs and hand through her hair and admits, "I guess I kinda expected this relationship to stay...simple?"

(There, the cat is out of the bag.)

Raking her teeth over her bottom lip, Santana nods slowly, seemingly caught off guard. "Yeah, um...so did I."

(Lies.)

Santana cracks a small smile as she takes a steady breath, blinking her eyes a little faster than before. "But the heart wants what the heart wants," she mumbles, shrugging her shoulders helplessly. "And apparently my hollow muscular organ chose to want you."

Brittany fights the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. How is that even when Santana's heartbroken, she still manages to be so damn charming?

"You're such a dork," she giggles, gently pushing Santana in the shoulder.

Catching Brittany's arm, Santana snuggles closer into her embrace and rests her head against Brittany's chest.

(She hopes her heart isn't beating too loud.)

"But I'm _your _dork. Unless you don't know me to be," Santana adds teasingly, head tilted upward. "'Cause I guess I could find someone else to be a dork with if you don't-"

"Just shut up and kiss me."

Brittany doesn't think she's ever felt this dizzy and perfectly still at the same time as Santana leans in, her grin slowly fading as she connects their lips, tilting her head to take Brittany's bottom lip between hers.

Overcome by the brunette's honesty, Brittany holds Santana's cheeks in between the palm of her hands, bringing her in closer, closer and closer, if that's even possible with their current proximity.

"You know that I care about you, right?" Brittany murmurs against plump lips.

Santana nods as she trails kisses down Brittany's neck, placing a hand on her shoulder to push her back against the mattress. "Yeah," she whispers as she hovers over Brittany, dark eyes tracing the contours of her face in adoration. "I know."

* * *

**A/N: Fluffy chapter before things get complicated. **

**Thanks for reading ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I last updated. A few months ago, I mistakenly deleted some of my notes for this story, and it really set me back. I had to rewrite a lot of what was already written, which was really frustrating, so I'm sorry if there are some mistakes in this chapter. If there's too many, I'll go back and edit it.**

**Thanks for bearing with me. Hopefully I'll get the next chapter up sooner than this one. Hope you like ;)**

* * *

_Santana's mumbling in her sleep again. Brittany can't make out the words, but whatever she's saying, it must be super important considering the expressions on her face. _

_Brittany knows her expressions like the back of her hand. __When she's scared, the bridge of her nose crinkles cutely. When she's angry, her lips purse sharply. When she's excited, her eyebrows rise. And when she's sad, her lips form into a pout._

_Brittany smooths out the lines on her face, smiling when Santana grumbles under her breath and scoots closer to her, tightly wrapping her arms around her waist. _

_It's cold underneath the sheets, but she prefers this rather than the rising temperatures out on the streets. The weather has been sweltering this summer. They barely even go outside it's been so hot. The only good thing that came out of the warm weather is the fact Santana looks gorgeous in those tiny shorts she loves to wear. _

_Unraveling Santana's arms from around her waist, Brittany carefully pulls the sheets back and steps out of bed. She silently pads around the room, tugging on a plain white tee and some shorts. _

_Brittany's not really much of a coffee person, but after last night, she's utterly exhausted. Taking a seat at the counter, Brittany flips through an old magazine as she sips on her coffee. She doesn't know how long she sits there, but it must be for awhile, because right when she takes the last sip, she hears the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway._

_Santana's lazy smile is Brittany's favorite. Brittany loves it when she makes herself at home in her apartment. Santana's wearing Brittany's baggy sweatpants, she notices with a smirk, and has on her E=MC Hammer t-shirt._

_She sits down across from Brittany, head tilted sideways. _

_"How'd you sleep?" _

_"Like a baby," Santana mumbles, her eyes slowly closing._

_Brittany chuckles, shaking her head in amusement. "Why are you up if you're still tired?" she asks, "You can sleep longer, you know?"_

_Instead of responding, Santana just looks at her with this smile. She purses her lips, knits her eyebrows together thoughtfully and says, "I was looking for some sweatpants in your closet, and I think I saw something I wasn't suppose to see."_

_Brittany arches an eyebrow, yet she already knows what Santana's talking about._

_A few weeks back, Brittany somehow ended up at an art store, saw something Santana would like, and bought it, all before realizing she had no reason for giving Santana a gift other than just because it was Wednesday. It's usually only people in committed relationships who do that type of stuff, so she freaked out and hid the present all the way in the back of the closet. _

_If she knew Santana knew her way around closets so well, she would've found a better place to hide it, like under the bed, or in the oven or something. _

_Brittany's nodding as she gets up to pour herself another cup of coffee, also pouring a cup for Santana while she's up. She blows on her coffee as she sits back down, watching as spirals of smoke swirl in the air and evaporates. "You weren't supposed to see that," she says after taking a long, thoughtful sip._

_Santana shrugs with a sly smirk. "Sorry?"_

_Brittany rolls her eyes, a small smile playing at her lips. _

_(It's literally impossible to stay mad at that face.)_

_"So..." Santana begins, smiling crookedly, knowingly; it's like she can just paint out a picture of everything Brittany's thinking. _

_"So..." she mimics, eyebrows raised slightly._

_"You got me a present." It's not a question, because Santana already knows Brittany wouldn't buy a sketchpad and drawing utensils for herself, then hide them away in a closet just for fun. _

_Brittany nods, running a hand through her hair. "I got you a present," she confirms, watching closely as a tanned hand slides across the countertop. _

_"What for?" Santana wonders aloud, intertwining their fingers loosely. "My birthday isn't until March."_

_"I know."_

_"So, why the gift?" Santana asks again, her smile even broader now. "Is there a reason, or..."_

_(Santana's really gonna make her say it, isn't she?)_

_"Yes," Brittany sighs, rolling her eyes with an airy laugh. "Just because. I got you a gift just because it was Wednesday...or maybe it was a Tuesday."_

_Santana smirks; it's that victory smirk Brittany's seen so many times after being right, or getting a good grade on an assignment, or after making Brittany come three times in a row. _

_But instead of a cocky or smug comment like usual, Santana just continues to smile down at her coffee before peeking up and saying, "Thanks..."_

_Rubbing her thumb soothingly over Santana's knuckles, Brittany lolls her head sideways with a goofy smile. She never thought doing something so relationshippy could make her feels so good inside. _

_Seeing the bashful and grateful look on Santana's face after confessing why she got her a present is even more significant than the present in general._

_They're quiet for awhile, just holding each other's hand across the counter and drinking their coffee. Brittany grabs a week old newspaper and idly flips through the pages. It's nice, it's simple, it's relaxing._

_Every now and then, when she peeks up from under her eyelashes, she catches Santana watching her. Instead of looking away shyly like before, Santana just continues to stare with bold, brown eyes, a small smirk twitching at the corner of her lips. _

_Sighing through her nose, Santana takes a sip of her coffee. She licks her lips and glances down at the table thoughtfully before fixing her gaze back on Brittany. _

_"This might sound strange, but..." Santana starts, her voice lower than usual, almost secretive. "I've always wanted to...would it be weird to ask if..."_

_"Spit it out, San," Brittany giggles, amused by the woman's endless stammering._

_"My brother, Ricky, is in art school, and he tells me how they draw nude portraits all the time," Santana explains, anxiously tracing the rim of her coffee mug. "And I mean, I've drawn lots of pictures and stuff, but...I've never drawn that before."_

_"So, you want to draw me?" Brittany asks bluntly, arching an eyebrow. "Naked?"_

_Chewing on her bottom lip, Santana nods slowly, hesitantly, like she's not sure if she crossed a line or whatever. "Yeah," she says, shy brown eyes peeking up to catch Brittany's expression._

_"Okay." Brittany smiles into her cup of coffee with a shrug. "Where?"_

_Santana shrugs too. "Your bed?"_

_"When?"_

_"Now?"_

_Brittany sets her cup of coffee back on the counter. "Right now?"_

_"Yeah..."_

_Brittany shrugs again. "Okay."_

* * *

_She kind of wishes she turned down the air conditioner before stripping herself bare, because it's really freezing in her room as she lays splayed on her bed, nothing to cover her bare skin but the blonde hair draped over her shoulders._

_Brittany's never done this before; this naked thing. She's not uncomfortable or embarrassed or anything. Just cold._

_Santana loves Brittany's body, apparently, because every time the brunette looks away from her painting, this crooked smile stretches across her cheeks, like she just can't believe she's drawing a naked girl right now. _

_"You're enjoying this way too much," Brittany teases, stretching her arms behind her head with a strangled yawn. _

_Santana smirks, shyly hiding behind her easel. "Sorry, sorry. It's just..." she trails off, her voice muffled. "I'm on the boobs right now and I can't get them right. I just want to do your breasts justice, babe."_

* * *

**Present Day**

Brittany closes her eyes, shakes her head, and clears her mind. She wishes this room wasn't so smalls so she could actually think. Her mind has been going to past memories all day long, and it's driving her insane.

This is the reason she needs distance. This is the reason she shouldn't have gotten so comfortable around Santana in the first place. It was stupid of her to think something as trivial as love wouldn't get in the way of their casual relationship. All she thinks about is Santana. All she sees in her dreams is Santana. All she breathes is Santana.

Someone she's casually seeing shouldn't be taking up so much space in her mind.

"The red plaid skirt with the brown sweater, or the silky, blue blouse and gray high-rise pants? Personally, I'm thinking more the latter. We need an edgier look, right? Am I right? Oh, maybe we can cut the sleeves halfway and roll them up to add more sex appeal. Does that work or should we just stick to the original?"

(Is it sad she has no idea what Rachel's talking about?)

Nibbling on the edge of her pencil, Brittany nods her head dismissively and says, "Good idea, Rachel. Good idea."

For the past week she's been functioning like this. No more is she a zombie, because at least zombies have hearts. She now feels like a robot. It's like she's moving backwards from where she originally began.

There's this emptiness in her chest desperately fighting with her to be filled. Before, it was easy to ignore that feeling, because she didn't know what she was missing, but now, now that she knows how it feels to be loved, she doesn't know what to do with it.

This isn't the first time someone's confessed to being in love with her, but this is the first time she's stuck around after the confession. People usually expect an immediate answer after they say the three horrid words, _"I love you." _

After those words are spoken, she's usually pinned with this expectant look as the person waits for her to repeat their sentiment. Seconds tick by as they wait and wait and wait, though nothing is spoken back, and ultimately, that's it.

Who wants to stick around someone who doesn't feel the same way anyway? It's too painful. Too embarrassing. Too heart wrenching.

(Yet...)

Santana stuck around. Santana didn't pin her with an expectant look. Santana didn't urge her to repeat the same words back. Santana didn't pressure her into feeling the same way. Santana didn't make her feel guilty for her lack of feelings in regards to the younger woman. All she did was give Brittany an understanding smile and then make love to her like it was the last thing she'll ever do.

If Brittany said the feeling of Santana's love isn't completely overwhelming, she'd be lying through her teeth. The way Santana stares at her sometimes, giving her _the look_ when she least expects it, yeah, it is pretty overwhelming, knowing she holds someone's heart right in the palm of her hand, and if she's not careful, she can easily crush that heart into a million pieces.

Yeah, that feeling; that's why she's overwhelmed. And that's also why she can't concentrate on a single word Rachel's saying. The petite woman's mouth continues to move at the speed of light, but all Brittany can hear is white noise. That, and this little voice in the back of her head, whispering, _"I'm in love with you, Britt."_

If she's being completely honest with herself, which she very rarely is, she has to admit, she _did_ kind of see Santana's love confession coming. The adoration Santana feels for her is usually written all over her face, in her eyes, on her smile.

"I think this one looks better than that one. But then again, this one has better stitching than that one. And this one's color is more exuberant and appealing to the eye than that one," Rachel rambles on and on and _on_, pacing around the room at top speed and literally making Brittany quite dizzy.

From what she can tell, Rachel's nagging her about what dress patterns look best for the next runway show their hosting in the fall.

Barely there, Brittany tries her best to pay attention; she's been hoping for a promotion. It's between herself and the chick sitting in the chair right next to her.

Wilma's her name.

Wilma, with her strawberry blonde hair and green eyes, gives Rachel her full attention. She nods when expected to. She writes down notes like she's recording a historical event. She even opens her big mouth, adding comments here and there whenever necessary, flattering Rachel and telling Rachel whatever she wants to hear and complimenting Rachel's choices and kissing Rachel's round ass.

Brittany really wants this promotion, and she'd probably be sucking Rachel's dick too in order to get it if her mind wasn't more focused on what happened over a week ago.

After the night of the storm, both literally and figuratively speaking, things between them went fairly back to normal.

(Well. Mostly.)

Other than Santana giving her a key to the loft, things have stayed the same. Brittany tried to give it back in the least insulting way possible, she really did, but Santana had just waved her off and said, _"Keep it, babe. You know, just in case."_

Brittany had wanted to ask, _"Just in case what?" _But eventually, she just let it go, not wanting to get into any arguments for no particular reason.

She refuses to use the key anyway, choosing to knock whenever she comes over. Two other people live there as well. Two people she's still not fairly comfortable around. Especially Tina. Brittany thinks it's the age difference, why Tina is so weird around her and gives her these critical looks, like she's not good enough for her friend, but...honestly, it could be anything.

Blaine's not too bad. He's as chipper as a sea sponge whenever she's around, stating, _"Santana's way meaner when you're not here." _He's funny, knows how to keep up with Santana's quick wit without letting it get to him, and even offers to pay for their take out whenever they hang out and watch sports together because, according to him, he's a gentleman, and hey, Brittany's not going to refuse free food, so.

If it's even possible, the sex gets better as the weeks go by. It's now summer, and Santana doesn't keep the air condition on very high at the loft, so things get pretty sweaty and heated fast. She'd offer to move the party to her apartment, but something about the thought of keeping Tina up all night is quite satisfying.

Now that Santana's out of school and on summer break, she's even more energetic and pumped to go all night long. Brittany thinks she's going to die from the intensity of her orgasms, sometimes; the way Santana swirls her tongue, bites her lips, pumps her fingers, and traces her clit, distinctly spelling out S-A-N-T-A-N-A with her thumb. Brittany has still yet to get passed the second A before she falls apart.

And _the look_, curse that look; it doesn't go away, it doesn't even dim, it just gets brighter and brighter, and used more often.

Sometimes, when neither of them are working, or when their lucky enough to have the same day off, they usually just spend the whole day at Brittany's apartment, chilling on the couch, watching gossipy talk shows, or laughing at a ridiculous episode of Family Guy.

Sometimes, they sit in the park and play frisbee with Winnie.

Sometimes, they stay in and watch movies in Brittany's bed together. Santana always insists on seeing Forrest Gump, and Brittany doesn't mind, because Santana can do the best Jenny impression.

Sometimes, when work is frustrating and Rachel is getting on her last nerve, Santana arrives at her apartment with a dazzling smile, holding out a pot of Brittany's favorite food.

Sometimes, when Santana's allergies are bad, Brittany comes over with a bowl of hot soup, tucks Santana in bed, fluffs her pillows, and cuddles with her while they watch movies on Netflix.

They're not in a committed relationship, they're not girlfriends, they haven't even met each other's family yet, but something about how they're always there for each other is comforting, it's heartwarming, and it makes her feel comfortable.

(A little too comfortable.)

_It's a Tuesday afternoon; a normal afternoon. Ever since the storm, everything has been normal. Santana's even refrained from saying the L word again, realizing how uncomfortable it makes Brittany sometimes._

_The cuddle up on Santana's couch in front of the TV and silently feed each other the leftover macaroni from the fridge, giggling every now and then when they miss each other's mouths on mistake. _

_Someone decides to get a little handsy, leading them to forget all about their dinner and end up naked in Santana's bedroom fifteen minutes later. Santana's on top, practically swallowing Brittany's tongue and working her up with those long, slender fingers of hers. _

_The deeper and faster Santana goes, it becomes more and more difficult for Brittany to suppress her moaning and groaning and whimpering. Santana's staring down at her in adoration, dark eyes blinking slowly in wonder. _

_Right when Santana circles Brittany's clit and thrusts her hips forward, Brittany goes over the edge. And a moment later, after rubbing herself furiously against Brittany's thigh, Santana goes over the edge as well._

_And well, you see, Santana's usually a screamer, except this time, she's not, softly fluttering her eyelashes as she whispers, "I love you, I love you, I love you," over and over and over again right into Brittany's ear. "I love you, I love you, I love you."_

_For awhile, after Santana falls asleep, Brittany just lays there and traces the brunette's face with the pads of her fingertips, listening as Santana snores softly and mumbles something unintelligible under her breath. _

_She wants to smile; she really does, because Santana's the most adorable girl she's ever met, and her mumbling is extremely endearing, but she's just so overwhelmed. The way Santana holds her against her bare body, the way she presses her lips against Brittany's shoulder in her sleep, the way she tangles their legs together under the sheets is all so suddenly suffocating. _

_Slowly, she unwraps a tanned arm from around her waist and slides out of bed, tiptoeing around the room in search for her clothes when she hears, "Where're goin', babe?"_

_Santana's sitting up slightly, brown hair sticking up in all directions as she squints her eyes in the darkness, gazing up at Brittany with a look of confusion._

_"I, um..." Brittany quickly tugs her jeans on, leaving her fly wide open as she grabs her shirt from off the floor. "I just remembered I have to be at work super early tomorrow. It would just be easier if I went home now."_

_She knows it's a lame excuse, and it seems Santana thinks so too by the dubious look on her face. _

_"Sure you can't stay?" Santana whispers, plump lips set into a frown._

_Brittany hurriedly pulls her shirt on before shaking her head sadly. "Rachel will kill me if I'm late," she continues, patting back over to the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry, babe."_

_"S'okay," Santana mumbles with a sleepy smile, taking Brittany's hand in hers. "Just text me when you get home so I know you're safe."_

_They exchange a slow, passionate kiss, Santana squeezing her hand tightly, expressing her need for Brittany to stay, though eventually she leaves anyway, knowing she'll get even less sleep when she finally gets home, all because of that squeeze._

Clenching her jaw, Brittany narrows her eyes on Rachel as the woman continues to yap on about something she doesn't really care about.

She doesn't want to hurt the young woman, but she doesn't feel the same way. It's weird knowing how Santana feels about her. It's overwhelming knowing she can't just return Santana's feelings. She would if she could, but it's as simple as time.

Her biological clock is ticking. There's a timer in her body, slowly counting down.

(Tick tock. Tick tock.)

While Santana's timer remains stagnant and may even skip back a few times, Brittany's going full speed ahead. As the months go by and she gets closer to hitting twenty-nine, she can feel her body growing older and yearning for what Quinn and her older sister have.

But whenever she's with Santana, she automatically forgets all about kids and marriage and white picket fences, and instead, she thinks of joy.

(It's distracting as hell.)

_"Smiling gives off endorphins that make other people smile," _Santana once told her.

The struggle to keep from smiling got harder and harder the more Santana kept talking. _"Is that right?"_ Brittany questioned, arching a brow.

(She wasn't really even sure what endorphins were.)

_"Mhm," _Santana murmured, continuing to nod. _"And the more you laugh, the longer you live."_

As cliché as it sounds, Santana makes her feel young again. And she loves that feeling. That feeling makes her smile. That feeling makes her laugh. It makes her giddy and energetic and excited.

Being with Santana is like taking a bite out of the Apple of Life, being granted the opportunity to be young again and have everlasting life.

She really loves that feeling, but too bad it's useless. It's a waste of time to think this way, because no matter what, she's going to end up breaking Santana's heart no matter what she tries to tell herself.

Ever since that night a week ago, Brittany's been doing her best to initiate some distance between them. When Santana calls, she doesn't speak on the phone very long, expressing that she's busy. She declines whenever Santana asks her to go places, expressing that she's busy.

It's not all entirely untrue, because she _has _been focusing on work lately in order to get that promotion.

Rachel's blabbering on about seasonal colors when her phone vibrates. It's a text, and even less shocking, it's Santana.

Before opening the message, Brittany stares at her home screen. Santana smiles up at her as her wallpaper. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she swipes her thumb across the unlock button and opens the message.

San: _Lunch?_

Something claws at her stomach. Regretfully, she ignores the text, but exactly three minutes later, her phone vibrates again, and she groans, but this time, it's not Santana.

In the message, Quinn's asking for the same thing.

Quinn: _lunch in my office in 20 mins. got something important to tell you!_

Rachel's blabbering seems to be slowing down; her words per minute ratio seems to be decreasing, so Brittany assumes the meeting will be over in less than ten minutes, hopefully.

She feels claustrophobic in this little board room anyway, especially with Wilma sucking up all the good air, so with a grateful smile, she quickly shoots Quinn a text, accepting her lunch invitation.

* * *

Quinn has this weird look on her face as she swallows her salad. Brittany crinkles her nose and takes a bite out of her pasta, chewing slowly as she watches Quinn eat.

She wonders if Santana told Quinn about the love confession. Or maybe Santana's been asking about her; why she hasn't been picking up her phone or answering any of her text messages lately.

She can tell there's something on Quinn's mind. It's not every day she's invited on a whim to come and have lunch in Quinn's immaculate office. Quinn's a very busy woman, being partial owner of a successful law firm and all. When they do have lunch together, it's usually out at a restaurant or something, so whatever Quinn has to tell her must be pretty important and meant to be kept private.

"Is Sam cheating?"

"What?"

Brittany shrugs a shoulder, stuffing another forkful of penne vodka into her mouth. "Well, you haven't said anything in like seven minutes, so you're forcing me to take guesses now."

"And that's your first guess?" Quinn asks disbelievingly, setting her fork down in order to cross her arms over her chest. "My husband cheating on me?"

Raising her hands in surrender, Brittany kicks up her feet and places them on Quinn's desk. "Just a guess, Quinn. Anyway, I'm happy to hear that's not the news."

"Yeah, thanks," Quinn rolls her eyes at her friend, shoving her legs off of her mahogany desktop. "So, remember when I told you a few months back that Sam and I wanted to expand our family?"

"Mhm," Brittany nods, urging Quinn to continue as the other woman quietly plays around with the remaining leaves in her salad bowl.

"And how we wanted Jamie to have a little brother or sister?" Quinn continues, smiling down at her desk.

Brittany slowly raises an eyebrow, a small smile stretching across her cheeks. "Yeah..." she drawls out, waiting patiently as Quinn looks up from her half-eaten plate of food. "You may have mentioned it here and there."

"Well," Quinn's smile is radiant as she sits forward in her seat, hazel eyes bright in excitement. "I'm pregnant. Again."

Brittany lets out a squeal, jumping up from her seat to pull Quinn into a big bear hug. Quinn laughs when Brittany touches her stomach, but she slaps her friend's hand away when she starts poking her navel repeatedly.

"How far along are you?" Brittany asks, leaning out of their embrace, though her arms remain wrapped loosely around Quinn's waist.

"Eight weeks," Quinn tells her with a giddy smile.

When Sam and Quinn were first trying to have their first child, they had a hard time conceiving Jamie and there were also a few complications during the birth. It really had Quinn questioning the natural abilities of her body for awhile, so Brittany's just glad everything went much smoother this time around.

"And Britt?" Quinn speaks up after a beat of silence, her smile more hesitant now. Brittany raises an eyebrow, eyes still wide from the earlier excitement. "Sam and I spent awhile talking about it, and since Sam's sister is Jamie's godmother, I only thought it would be right if you were the godmother to our youngest child. You're like a sister to me, Britt, and I'd be so grateful."

"Oh my gosh," Brittany's gasps in surprise, clasping Quinn's hand in hers. "I'd be honored, Quinn. I'll be like the best godmother ever."

* * *

She leaves Quinn's office after promising to go to any of the prenatal classes or doctor's appointments Sam can't make.

Just like when she came up here, Brittany is super careful when she passes Santana's department so she won't run into her, though the universe must hate her right now, because when the elevator doors open, she's greeted with the woman she's been desperately trying to avoid.

(Damn, she should've taken the stairs.)

"What are you doing here?"

On usual occasions, Brittany would expect a broad smile shortly followed by a kiss, but she can kind of understand Santana's stink-face.

(She _has_ been blowing the young woman off for about five days now after all.)

Brittany came here for Quinn, but instead she says, "I got your text."

"So," Santana muses, stepping out of the elevator and letting it close behind her. "You're here for me?"

Brittany inwardly cringes at the hopeful tone in Santana's voice. "Why do you sound so shocked?"

"Well, I don't know, Britt," Santana huffs, rolling her eyes as she stands even more rigid than before. "Maybe because you've been avoiding me lately. You haven't been answering my calls, my text messages. We always hang on Friday nights, yet you blew me off the last two times."

(...)

The brunette pauses and shrugs her shoulders helplessly, gazing up at Brittany with the look. "I just...I don't know what I did wrong."

If Brittany didn't feel like a bitch before, she surely does now. Taking Santana's hand, Brittany pulls them aside and away from the wandering eyes of Santana's colleagues. The Latina's still an intern; it wouldn't really be beneficial to her career to air out all their dirty laundry in the middle of the office like this.

"I haven't been avoiding you. Exactly," Brittany adds on, because the last thing she wants to do is lie to Santana's face; instead, she twists the truth. "I've just been really busy with work lately and haven't been able to return your calls."

Slowly, Santana slides her fingers out of Brittany's hand, loosely crossing her arms over her chest. She doesn't say anything, just squints her dark eyes and stares, like she's waiting for Brittany to say more, and after a moment of silence, Brittany finally realizes what Santana wants to hear.

"I'm sorry for ignoring you, Santana. I really am," she says, and it's the truth, she _is_ sorry. "It's been a really long week without you, so basically I was just torturing myself. I'm an idiot."

Santana chuckles at this, intertwining their fingers again. Brittany's happy to finally see that smile. "You _are_ an idiot. _My_ idiot."

After being with Santana for four months, it was a lot harder than she thought to live without that smile.

"I know how you can make it up to me," Santana singsongs cutely, swinging their arms back and forth between them.

Brittany nods without a second thought, because she's starting to realize she'd do anything to keep this girl happy.

Santana smirks and lowers her head as she whispers, "Cook for me tonight."

This feels like a test in some way, like she's being challenged. It would just be another step backwards if she declined Santana's invitation, but she's exhausted, so her first response would be no if she didn't have a filter, but she knows how much this means to Santana, now that they're still on some type of common ground.

Brittany pouts. "But I can't cook."

"Then I'll order takeout. Anything you want," Santana whispers as she wraps her arms around Brittany's waist, seemingly sensing her hesitation. "Please, it's been a whole week since I've seen you. I miss you, babe."

Brittany smiles, playfully rolling her eyes. "Fine, but only if we have Chinese." Santana seems to brighten up at this, leaning forward on her tiptoes to quickly peck Brittany on the lips. "What are you gonna order me?"

"Your absolute favorite. Shrimp lo mein, right?" Santana singsongs, smiling up at Brittany. "I'll just head to the Chinese place after work and be at your place by seven. Sound good?"

When Santana gives her _the look_ and convinces her with another whine, it's physically impossible for Brittany to say no.

"Sounds great."

* * *

Brittany has to admit, she can't really remember how she went through the day to day without Santana in her life, and even now, she can't imagine Santana not being around; how she did it for a whole week, she'll never know.

Brittany's always been an independent spirit, and she supposes the vulnerability of falling in love is the scariest part. She's not even sure if it's the age difference anymore.

Maybe she's just been using that as an excuse. Maybe she's been blaming fate and the universe for her inability to fall in love, and now that she finally might be, she doesn't know what to do because she's been so used to ignoring the feeling for so long.

Santana arrives right on time at Brittany's apartment, bearing plastic bags of Chinese food with the yellow smiling face on the front. Santana always has the sticky, white rice, and Brittany always orders the shrimp lo mein.

Like usual, they watch re-runs of old _Friends _episodes. They've been doing this a lot ever since they started dating, just hanging out at each other's places, lounging on the couch at all hours of the night. Brittany hopes she's not keeping Santana away from her friends, but Santana once told her she's not really into partying and clubbing much anyway.

It's ironic, kind of, how Quinn set her up with Santana to get her out of her apartment more, yet all they ever do is chill at each other's apartments.

Chinese food on Fridays has become some sort of tradition between them, a divine ritual, as Santana calls it, and Brittany kind of likes the thought of not being lonely all of the time. Sure, she has Lord Tubbington, but he can't really tell corny jokes, or insult the people on TV, or cuddle Brittany the way Santana can.

Life is funny in that way; how things always seem to happen when you least expect it. Throughout dinner, Santana makes a big deal out of Brittany getting a certain fortune cookie. It never used to matter who got what during their dinners other than the sticky rice and shrimp lo mein; everything else was just a free for all, so when Santana hands her a specific fortune cookie and watches as her as opens it, Brittany can't help but wonder what she's in for.

Cracking the fortune cookie, Brittany slowly pulls out the piece of paper, her eyes widening when she reads what's written; _Will you be my girlfriend?_

Brittany kind of just stares at it for awhile, unsure of how to respond. She can see Santana looking at her from out the corner of her eye, and it's a little unnerving. Swallowing thickly, she folds up the small slip of paper and bites her bottom lip, eyes still downcast.

Strangely, the first thought that comes to Brittany's mind is how Sanata even got this done in the first place, but then she remembers Tina's parents own a Chinese restaurant somewhere out in Brooklyn.

"Britt?"

She lifts her head when she hears her name. Santana's smiling, eyes hopeful as she looks back and forth between Brittany's blue eyes. Taking a deep breath, Brittany knits her eyebrows together and softly murmurs, "Santana, I..." The words are right on the tip of her tongue, but instead she whispers, "I don't know what to say."

Of course she knows what to say. The word _no_ is begging to be released, but somehow, it just won't come out, no matter how much Brittany forces herself to say it.

Santana shrugs her shoulder, brown eyes still bright and hopeful. "Say yes," she tells her, nibbling on her bottom lip anxiously.

She knows she's taking way too long to answer. At least a whole minute has passed since she first opened the fortune cookie.

Santana's still sitting there, her hope slowly dwindling, and all Brittany can do is stare at the words _Will you be my girlfriend? _in horror, a little voice whispering in her ear about age and seven years and commitment and love.

"I'm sorry, San," Brittany whispers, shaking her head, apologetic. "I...I can't."

It's silent after that; dead silent. Santana's smile slowly falls, eyebrows raised in surprise. "Oh," she whispers, mostly to herself, wringing her hands together anxiously. "I just thought that..."

Brittany nods, grimacing at the awkward tension surrounding them. "Santana, I love what we have now. It's easy and fun," she tries to explain to the best of her ability. Santana doesn't seem to want to listen, staring down at her lap and shaking her head repeatedly. Brittany wants to know what's going through her head, what she's think, but she's not a mind reader, so.

"Easy and fun," Santana repeats, huffing out a breath of air. She lifts her head, finally, and Brittany frowns at the tears building at the edge of her eyes. Santana holds them back as best as she can, rolling her eyes when a tear does break through a slide down her cheek.

"I just don't think we should fix what's not broken," Brittany adds, placing the small slip of paper into Santana's hand. "You're not mad at me, are you?"

Santana smiles, somewhat reluctantly, and sniffles away the rest of her tears. "No, Britt, I'm not mad," she whispers, tucking the paper into her pocket. "I get it, okay? I understand. Just thought I'd try, but whatever. It doesn't really matter."

Santana chuckles bitterly, biting her lower lip so hard, Brittany swears she's going to draw blood.

"I was just having so many doubts, and then today, you told me it was all in my head, and I guess I got a little excited and did the first thing that came to my mind," Santana says in a rush, combing a hand through her hair. "But hey, it's only been five months, it's not like it's utterly maniacal to be official by then, right? Normal people don't start dating after five months, because that's just insane."

Whenever Santana gets worked up about something, she rambles sarcastically. Brittany's used to hearing it by now, but it's never been directed at her before. And it kind of hurts.

Brittany's heart aches, a churning feeling in her stomach swirls into a knot as she watches Santana struggle to compose herself. "I'm sorry," Brittany says again, because what else _can _she say?

"Can I just ask you one question?" Santana wonders aloud, and when Brittany nods, eyebrows raised curiously, the brunette closes her eyes and whispers, "This isn't about our age difference, is it?"

Brittany wants to be honest and tell Santana the age difference does make her feel a little uncomfortable and insecure at times, that things would be a lot easier and less complicated if they were around the same age, but somehow, Brittany doesn't really think Santana would understand.

Something about Santana's naivety and inexperience says she would laugh or snort at the idea of their age difference getting in the way of a simple girlfriend, girlfriend relationship.

"No, it's not about the age difference." When she says it, she says it slow and evenly, making sure it sounds as truthful and steady as possible in order to make it seem believable.

Brittany hates lying to Santana; she absolutely hates it, but if it means keeping a frown off of those chipmunk cheeks of hers, then Brittany will do whatever it takes.

Santana nods in acceptance, but something about the gleam in her eye gives Brittany the impression the younger woman doesn't believe a word she's saying, and her next words definitely confirm it. "I think I'm gonna head home," Santana tells her, carefully standing up from the couch.

Brittany stands up too, arching an eyebrow, because didn't Santana just say it doesn't matter? "I thought you were spending the night, though?"

Heading towards the door, Santana grabs her purse from off the counter and says, "I have work early tomorrow. Quinn would kill me if I'm late."

It's the same excuse Brittany used when she left Santana that one morning. It hurts to hear the words even more than it does to say them. Brittany doesn't try to stop her, because she knows how it feels to need some space, so she lets Santana go without argument, clenching her jaw when the front door slams shut.

* * *

It turns out, Santana didn't have work the next morning. Quinn said so.

It's funny how life works sometimes. If Brittany believes in fate and love at first sight, she definitely believes in karma. Earlier in the month, she avoided Santana like the plague, and it seems what comes around comes around, because it seems Santana wants nothing to do with her anymore.

She tries to call her, but there's no answer. She texts her, no response. Santana could be busy, sure, but Brittany highly doubts it, especially when she talks to Quinn on the phone.

_"She's seemed really disconnected lately, barely speaking up during meetings, refusing to smile or even laugh at my jokes," _Quinn tells her, sounding incredibly put off. _"And my jokes are hilarious."_

She can't help but imagine Santana, drained of all life, leaning against her desk in exhaustion, desperately trying to get through the day. Brittany's only getting these images from what she went through when she avoided Santana. Now she knows how it feels being on the other end, and it absolutely sucks.

Kurt's tried to cheer her up, but his enthusiasm over everything just reminds Brittany of the way Santana gets super excited over the smallest things. Rachel notices how distracted she's been and tries to engage in conversation with her, but Rachel's rambling just reminds Brittany of when Santana's nervous and can't stop talking.

It feels like she's just been threw a harsh breakup, which is just stupid, since they were never together in the first place.

Brittany's pathetic; she knows she is, especially when she shows up at Santana's apartment, exactly six days after the whole girlfriend debacle.

When she knocks, Blaine answers the door, smiling bright like it isn't the butt crack of dawn. He says he would stay to chat, but he's on his way out, so they exchange quick hellos and goodbyes.

Just as Brittany's closing the door and locking it safely behind her, she hears stumbling footsteps padding down the hallway, and she holds her breath when Santana emerges from the back of the apartment, running a hand through her knotted hair. Her bleary eyes are downcast, so she hasn't yet seen her recent guest.

Brittany just stands by the door, watching the younger woman she hasn't seen in days with a look of concern and sadness, a lump forming in her throat when Santana yawns cutely and rubs her eyes.

Brittany must catch Santana's attention from out the corner of her eye, because she looks up slowly, eyebrows rising when she sees her intruder. She's blindsided by Brittany's presence, that much is clear considering the way her eyes widen.

She looks tired, Brittany notes. Her eyes don't have that usual gleam to them. Her skin isn't as shiny as before, and her hair looks like she's been tossing and turning in bed all night, most likely thinking about Brittany.

Santana bites her lower lip, her eyes focused right on Brittany as she nervously fumbles with the hem of her white tank top. "How'd you get in here?" she whispers, her vision trailing down Brittany's body, then back up again.

Tilting her head to the side, Brittany gestures to the door and quietly murmurs, "Blaine let me in."

Sighing through her nose, Santana shakes her head in annoyance and mutters, "That little goblin. I told him to keep you out."

(Well, that hurt.)

"Don't blame him," Brittany mumbles, shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "He looked like he was in a rush, so I just thought I could-"

Santana sighs, weary and exhausted, cutting off the blonde's rambling. "Britt, why are you here?" she questions, slowly arching an eyebrow.

(Brittany thinks it should be pretty obvious why she's here.)

Ignoring her question, Brittany takes a step forward, frowning when Santana takes an equal step back. "I've been calling and texting you for five days now and you never answered or called me back," she tells her, hoping her explanation will express the purpose of her presence in this apartment so early in the morning and unannounced.

"And..." Santana runs a hand through her hair, completely disregarding Brittany's words as she shuffles into the kitchen, absentmindedly searching through her cabinets for something edible.

Brittany rolls her eyes before determinedly following after the younger woman. "And I was worried about you?"

"Well, you shouldn't be," is Santana's immediate response as she pulls a box of cereal out of the pantry and grabs a bowl out of the cupboard.

"I shouldn't be?"

Brittany scrunches up her nose in disbelief, confused about where this is all coming from. She's never seen this side of the brunette before; so petulant, stubborn, and dismissive of her.

"Santana," she sighs, unsure of what to say as she stands across the table from where Santana's slowly eating her breakfast. "I can't just turn off my concern for you."

"Concern," she scoffs, rolling her eyes as she slurps up a spoonful of milk.

(Concern isn't the same as love, no matter how much Santana wishes otherwise.)

Brittany crosses her arms over her chest, refusing to back down. "Excuse me?" she questions, not having quite heard Santana's response.

"Nothing, nothing," Santana mumbles, blankly staring down at the table. "Look, I'm already running late. I had a really long night, and I have to be in class in about-"

"Hello?" A feminine voice calls out, sounding a bit lost. Brittany raises a brow, glancing at the kitchen entrance curiously.

"In the kitchen." Santana doesn't take her eyes off Brittany as she says this.

A half-naked woman comes strolling into the kitchen wearing nothing but a large Batman t-shirt, her long legs on full display. With lazy smile on her face, hair all disheveled and crazy, she looks Brittany's way and smirks. "Oh, hey..." she slurs, stretching her toned arms high above her head with a yawn.

Something in Brittany's brain short-circuits and her whole body freezes, her mind desperately looking for a reason some random woman is in Santana's apartment in nothing but a thin shirt.

Her blue eyes dart back and forth between Santana and the woman, chest rising and falling in confusion. Santana doesn't seemed too fazed by the woman's presence, dark eyes focused on her bowl of cereal like it's the best porno she's ever saw.

Brittany can't believe what she's witnessing. This isn't the Santana she knows. This isn't the young woman that makes her stomach flutter with butterflies, makes her heart race in anticipation, makes her toes numb through earth shattering orgasms.

(This woman right here; she's being a real jerk, and Brittany doesn't recognize her at all.)

Brittany watches, her stomach painfully sinking in on itself as the half-naked woman goes about fixing herself some cereal like she owns the place before plopping down at the table next to Santana, looking way too comfortable for a walk of shame.

Noticing the awkward tension, Santana lifts her head and stares straight at Brittany with a smirk. "Oh, I'm sorry, where are my manners?" she mutters dryly, licking her tempting, plump lips. "Britt, this is..."

"Lori," the random woman supplies without missing a beat, continuing to eat her cereal like it's the first meal she's had in ages.

"Britt, this is Lori," Santana continues, easily making introductions, as if this is some kind of meet and greet. "Lori, meet Britt."

"Sup," the woman nods in acknowledgement, wrapping her arms around her bowl of cereal.

The whole time, Brittany just stands there in confusion, glancing back and forth between them with a look of disbelief even Tommy Lee Jones would find laughable.

"How could you?"

The words barely come out, whispered and strangled, her throat so closed up she can't even get herself to swallow.

Nonchalant, Santana glances back up, eyebrows knitted slightly. "How could I what?" she asks, stirring her cereal around in boredom.

The corner of her eyes sting, but she holds back her tears; Brittany refuses to show how much this hurts her, how much pain it's causing her when just five days ago it was her who told Santana she didn't want to be in a serious relationship.

(Honestly, Brittany should have seen this coming.)

Turning on her heel, Brittany exits the kitchen and makes her way to the door as fast as possible, but before she can even reach the door, warm fingers wrap around her wrist, and with a tug, spin her around.

"Whatever you're thinking right now isn't true," Santana whispers, leaning in far too close to Brittany for her liking considering the woman she was with last night is just in the next room.

Snatching her arm out of her grasp, Brittany pushes away from Santana, hoping to get some space; she can't be that close to her right now, or maybe ever again.

"What, that you're a big, fat cheater?" she accuses, retreating to the door now that she's free from Santana's clutches.

Santana scoffs, throwing her head back in exasperation. "Technically I can't cheat if we're not even together."

These words are what make Brittany pause, her hand on the doorknob, squeezing tightly as she tries to calm down and keep her cool. Slowly turning around, Brittany counts to five in her head before opening her mouth again, hoping fire doesn't burst out considering her rage at the moment.

"Oh, so that makes it okay to go around sleeping with girls you barely know five days after you asked me to be your girlfriend?" Brittany asks calmly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I didn't sleep with her," Santana mumbles, shrugging a shoulder.

"And that makes it okay to rub said girl's young naked body in my face like it's some kind of game?" Brittany continues, her voice getting higher as she begins to lose her cool.

(It's not fair that Santana can stay so calm, and she can't.)

"First, wanky," Santana says with a dry laugh, placing her hands on her hips. "And second, I repeat, I did not sleep with her."

(Wait...what?)

Brittany blinks, her lip poking out petulantly. "Wait, what?"

An amused smirk slowly stretches across Santana's dimpled cheeks. "Before five minutes ago," she begins, taking a step back into Brittany's personal space. "I had never seen that woman before in my entire life."

"Then, how..." Brittany stammers, pointing a finger back at the kitchen entrance. "Why is she..."

Santana takes Brittany's hand before she can pull away, gently running her thumb over her pale knuckles.

"Rudy's been staying here since Ma kicked him out. Again," she adds, rolling her eyes at just the thought of her older brother crashing at her apartment. "I guess I'm just used to seeing his one night stands come and go so often, it barely affects me anymore. Britt, I would never do something like that to you. No matter how upset I am about a situation."

Brittany opens and closes her mouth before glaring at Santana. "You're such a..." She lets out a scream of frustration, throwing her hands up in the air. "You knew I would think you had sex with her. I can't believe you just let me think that."

Santana smirks. "You were jealous."

"I think pissed off is a better choice of words."

Clearing her throat, Santana wipes off her smirk. "I'm sorry, okay? That was a jackass move. I guess I just wanted to make you feel as lousy as me, which was really low," Santana explains, her dark eyes focused on her sock clad feet. "I'm sorry."

Brittany averts her eyes to the wall next to her, calmly blowing out a sigh. "I...I guess I'm sorry too, for jumping to conclusions," she apologizes, wringing her fingers together. "And for calling you a cheater."

"A big, fat cheater," Santana eagerly corrects.

"Right. Sorry," Brittany nods, rolling her eyes at herself. "You're not big and fat. And even if you were, I'm sure you'd still be just as hot."

Santana laughs, and Brittany smiles at that laugh; this is the girl she's come to know. Santana's goofy and charming, and it really scared her when Santana was so cold toward her.

In the silence surrounding them, Santana smiles that goofy grin and takes another hesitant step forward, holding her arms open for Brittany as a sign of truce.

Unable to resist the tug at the corner of her lips, Brittany walks into her open arms, resting her chin against Santana's shoulder. She quits fighting the urge to smile when Santana pecks her on the cheek before nuzzling her nose into Brittany's neck adorably.

She knows it's only been five days, but it's been a long and emotional five days. She hasn't gone this long without seeing Santana since they first started dating, and she has to admit, it was unnerving being without the younger woman's smile and familiar smell and corny jokes.

(Brittany really missed her.)

"Look..." Santana starts, pulling out of the embrace, though her arms remain wrapped around Brittany's waist. "I know you don't love me or anything, but you can't just expect me to wait around forever."

(It seems like they're both waiting, but for what exactly?)

"I hate labels just as much as the next gay person," Santana says, her hands lowering to Brittany's hips as she moves to bring their bodies closer together. "But when it has to do with me and you, I want it to mean us. Like, a package deal. Two for one special. Buy one get one free."

Brittany giggles, quirking an eyebrow. "That last example sounded like three-way prostitution."

"Your mind lives in a gutter, Pierce."

"Guess that makes us roomies, Lopez."

Santana's upper lip twitches up into a smirk. "Roomies?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Brittany teases, tilting we head in order to catch Santana's eye. "Me saying no to being your girlfriend wasn't a rejection. I just don't want to rush into anything. Personally, I like the term lovers. It's sexier and more mysterious-"

"And it has the word love in it," Santana points out, grinning cheekily.

"If you get anymore ahead of yourself, you're going to trip over your own feet."

Santana opens her mouth to make a sly remark, but her words die on her tongue when that random woman comes out of the back room, clothes tossed back on, heels in hand.

"Thanks for breakfast," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "And tell Rudy I had a lot of fun last night."

"Sure thing, Lexis."

The woman winks at them before exiting the apartment.

Brittany cocks her head to the side. "I think her name was Lori."

Santana thinks about this for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I'm pretty sure it was Lexis."


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm going to Chicago for four weeks."

And that's how it all started; the silent tears at night, the need for hugs at random moments, the desperate clutching at her pillow, the ache of pure loneliness. Okay, maybe it hasn't been _that _bad, but very close to it.

Santana was leaving, gone for four whole weeks, at an internship in Chicago until the end of the summer.

(Brittany understood, of course she did.)

She's never been the clingy one in a relationship anyway, so she easily drove Santana to the airport, helped the brunette check in her bags, and kissed her goodbye at the departure gate.

It was a little bittersweet, she must admit. On the one hand, Brittany needs some time to herself to think things over and rationalize about their relationship, focus more of her attention on work, and sort out her conflicted emotions.

But on the other hand, Brittany misses Santana terribly.

The younger woman says the three words, "I'll miss you," almost every time they part, but Brittany, with her guarded behavior and cold heart, always responds with, "Ditto."

She's never been the needy type, but as she'd watched Santana disappear through the tunnel, Brittany had physically felt her heart clench at how much she was going to miss her...her-

Her lover?

The words don't feel quite right on her tongue. The words don't even feel right in her head. _Lovers _just sounds so cold and empty. Their relationship is a lot of things, but cold and empty? No, those words aren't even on the list.

When Brittany thinks about Santana, she thinks of late night phone calls, whispered sounds of I-love-you and I-want-you and I-miss-you and I-need-you. She thinks of handholding, hugs and kisses and kisses.

(Brittany can never get enough of Santana's kisses.)

No one has ever kissed Brittany the way Santana does; with her full, plump lips, exploring tongue, and teasing nips; the way her fingers wrap around Brittany's neck and run through her hair, bringing her closer and closer, deeper and deeper.

(In short, Brittany really misses her girl.)

Coincidentally, Kurt's boyfriend is out of town visiting his parents for the weekend, and Sam is on a business trip. Quinn's used to him going in and out of town, from LA to New York to Chicago to Miami.

Kurt's boyfriend has been leaving for the weekend to stay with his parents ever since his mother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, so even he is starting to get used to the separation. Brittany, though? No, she's not used to it; she's not used to it at all.

Since they all have nothing better to do with their time, they hang out at Kurt's apartment to distract themselves and watch a bunch of movie classics and musicals. Brittany and Kurt both sip on wine while Quinn settles for a bottle of water as they all cuddle on the couch and immerse themselves into the fictional world of love at first sight and fate and soulmates.

Brittany's not really sure if she believes in all that stuff anymore until her phone vibrates in her pocket right when Harry and Sally run into each other again for the third time in the movie.

With a delighted squeal, Brittany pushes Quinn aside and throws the blanket off her body as she hops over the couch. Kurt makes catcalls at her when she runs out of the room, yelling that it's Santana, it's Santana, it's Santana!

"Hey, bug," Santana says as soon as she answers the phone.

"San, please don't call me that..." Brittany smiles with a roll of her eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"But Mike and Tina have the cutest pet names for each other, so we need ones that are even cuter," Santana explains with a sigh, as if all of this makes perfect sense. "So, come on, work with me. How about boogie?"

"Boogie?"

"Yeah," Santana affirms excitedly, "Because you like to dance sometimes in your underwear."

"What does the underwear part have anything to do with the dancing?"

Santana snorts hysterically through the speaker, and it's so loud Brittany has to pull the phone away from her ear. "It doesn't," Santana sighs, calming down from her random fit of laughter. "I just wanted to mention that because I miss seeing you in your underwear."

"Well..." Brittany sinks down against the kitchen counter onto the ground and crosses her legs comfortably. "What about seeing me naked?"

"Mmm...even better," Santana moans, but Brittany can tell her words are doing nothing to rile Santana up.

They tried phone sex a few days ago and that was a complete disaster considering Santana couldn't even stop laughing to describe what she wanted Brittany to do to her.

"Wait a second..." Santana trails off, feigning confusion for a moment before whispering, "I know what's going on here."

Brittany cocks her head to the side. "Oh, whatever do you mean?"

"You're trying to distract me, and guess what?" Santana pauses, letting a moment of suspense drift through. "It's not working, pokey."

Pokey? "Definitely not."

"Chicken?"

"No."

"Monkey?"

"Uh-uh."

"Pussy?"

"Santana!"

* * *

That was only the first week into _The Great Separation_, as Santana likes to call it, but after another week, things take a turn for the worst.

She's been trying to distract herself with work and friends and a life she doesn't even have without Santana, but nothing is working. The only times she feels truly content is when Santana's voice is on the other line of her phone, or whenever Santana's face is staring back at Brittany through her computer screen.

Something's happening deep inside her. She doesn't know what it is, but whatever it is, it's severely unnerving. Whenever Santana texts her back after a long period of time, her insides twist like a rubber band around her heart.

Her heart bends like a slinky. Her lungs contract like a stress ball. Her brain short circuits like an overheated lamp. And her fingers can't help but reach out for her phone and reread text messages she's saved from months prior.

_Goofy: they don't have any shrimp, will chicken be okay?_

_Goofy: fuck, they don't have any chicken either. I'm going to a different restaurant. Try not to starve ;)_

_Goofy: so I was humming this song in the courtyard while I studied and some old man joins in, then when I stop, because like what the hell, he keeps singing, so I just gathered my stuff and left. everyday in this city gets weirder and weirder. that totally freaked me out lol_

_Goofy: am I still programmed as goofy in your phone? cuz if so I'm changing your name to Bigfoot_

_Goofy: always thinking of you ;)_

_Goofy: lmao there's this idiot sitting next to me in the library drooling all over his books, imma send you a pic lol._

_Goofy: ily, poppyseed bun :P_

_Goofy: smh dude streaking across campus. I'm scarred for life and I think I need to see a therapist :O_

_Goofy: *hugs and kisses and hugs*_

_Goofy: lol some girl asked if criminal law offences are viewed as offences against not just individual victims and I answered, is the sky blue? dumbasses, I swear_

_Goofy: sorry I didn't text you back earlier. my professor kidnapped my phone -_-_

Just looking at these text messages make her heart clench like a hypertonic blood cell, but in a good way. It's like there's this string attached to her ankle and every time Santana goes too far away, there's a tug on the string that has Brittany falling forward until she's practically eating concrete.

She wonders if Santana feels the same; wonders if she's the only person who's ever felt this conflicted about someone they've only known for seven months. It can't be just her. It can't. She can't be the first person to fall for someone seven years younger than her; someone who's still in law school, just barely legal, the prospect of children and marriage undeniably deniable.

But forget all of that. Forget the uncertainty and conflict and confusion. Forget the bendy heart and smoking brain. What really matters is the cold, empty space on the left side of her bed every night.

Sure, it's only been two weeks. Yeah, Santana will be back soon enough. And okay, they've been texting on and off and talking on the phone at any opportunity they can find, but Brittany hasn't slept alone in almost three months, and now...

Now she's forgotten how to, and the scariest part is that she doesn't want to remember.

* * *

It's one o'clock in New York, twelve o'clock in Chicago when Santana calls.

"San..."

For the past week, she's been answering this way, just to make sure, just to clarify that it's really Santana, because she's gone the whole day without her, again, thinking about her, missing her, and if this isn't really Santana on the other line, well.

"Hey, Britt..."

Santana sounds different tonight. More tired, Brittany realizes after a moment of thought.

"You sound tired, babe."

"I am," she slurs, exhausted. "They workin m'hard here."

Brittany pouts, draping the thin sheets over her chest. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Santana rarely speaks in such short sentences. Months ago, when this relationship between them first started, Santana wouldn't be able to shut up when she talked on the phone to Brittany, but now Santana can't even say two words without pausing to yawn.

"You sure you're okay, San?" Brittany asks, turning over in bed at a more comfortable angle. "You sound sad."

There's silence on the line for awhile, then a sigh, then, "I am sad." The words Santana speak are whispered and hoarse, and it makes Brittany's stomach clench.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not with you."

Brittany wants her heart to flutter and burst, but instead it just feels heavy in her chest. It doesn't beat, it thumps. And yes, there is a difference. Something bubbles up her stomach, and no, it's not gas. Actually, she's unsure what it is until the words are out in the open.

"I miss you."

She doesn't think she's ever said those words before and has truly meant it as much as she does right now.

More silence, and Brittany has to literally hold her breath. "You do?" Santana asks after awhile; the skepticism is clear in her voice, and Brittany hates herself a little that Santana actually has to question if she's being truthful or not.

"So much," she whispers, rolling over on her back to stare up at the ceiling.

Santana giggles, and Brittany can't help but smile at the infectious laughter. Santana only ever giggles like this when she's smitten, delusional, or shy.

Brittany's not sure which one it is tonight, but she'd take anything if it meant having Santana back in New York, back in her bed, back in her arms.

"I miss you too," Santana says, all giggles and sighs, and now Brittany feels warm all over, mostly her cheeks. Santana's the only person who's ever made her blush like this, and maybe it's a sign, or some type of predestined fate.

It's taken her awhile, but Brittany knows it now. It took two weeks of separation, but now it's totally clear; so clear that she doesn't know how she didn't realize it before.

Brittany loves her. She loves Santana, and she wants to marry her. She's felt this way for a long time now. Too long; she just didn't know what that feeling was.

Only, she can't love someone who's not ready. She can't get into a relationship and risk breaking Santana's heart, knowing there's going to be a day where she has to face the facts and move on, search for someone who wants and needs the same things as her.

Some nights, though; nights like these, Brittany finds she doesn't want to look for someone who wants the same things as her. All she wants is Santana. She wants her maniacal giggle, sweet goodnight kisses, morning tickle fights, late night phone conversations, Xbox obsessions, and old Pokémon trading cards.

She wants a life with Santana. She wants kids with Santana. A house with Santana. A marriage to Santana. And Brittany will get these things. One way or another, she will have her happily ever after.

She will.

* * *

Jessie's making bologna sandwiches, because she's a mom. Brittany's not making bologna sandwiches, because, well, she's not.

Never has this realization hit her so hard until she woke up this morning and remembered her twenty ninth birthday is coming up in a little over a month. And not only that, but she woke up alone this morning, yet again, so the pang of loneliness is just another depressing factor to add on to the never ending list of my-life-sucks.

Brittany's not working today, because, well, it's Saturday, and also because it's family day at Katie's camp. She's gone every year without fail, so, you know, she can't really stop now.

Brittany knows looking at all of those kids and their adorable cookie cutter families are going to drive her insane. Even the uncookie cutter families who get stared at and judged half the time make her envious, because that could be her and Santana one day.

(It _could _be, if only Santana was four or five years older.)

(Brittany's come to the decision that it's all Santana's parents' fault. If they would have conceived Santana earlier, this wouldn't even be an issue right now.)

Since she doesn't have anything better to do, Brittany sits across the kitchen counter, swiveling back and forth on her stool as she watches Jessie make sandwiches for everyone.

She's trying her best not to mope, because this day is about Katie, and she's not that narcissistic where the attention has to be on her problems twenty-four/seven.

Leaning forward with a sigh, because she has to talk about this with someone or else she'll lose her wits, Brittany stares down at the table and asks, "How did you know Noel was the one?"

Jessie raises an eyebrow as she continues to cut a whole wheat sandwich into four quarters, the only indication she just heard what Brittany said. Wiping her hands on a dish towel, Jessie peeks over her shoulder to make sure her husband's not around before whispering, "Actually...he wasn't."

Jessie's smirking now; the way she used to when they were younger after sneaking a boy up to her room or hiding a hickey with a blush of foundation. Brittany raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

"He wasn't _the one_," she explains with a quick shrug of her shoulder. "When we first started dating, I was seeing two other guys at the time."

Brittany's eyes widen, and she stops swiveling on the stool completely to stare at her older sister in disbelief. "Jessie..." she gasps scandalously, leaning further into the kitchen counter.

"What?" Jessie chuckles, feigning complete innocence as she wraps a sandwich into a roll of foil. "We weren't official at the time, so I was allowed to hang out and shop around."

Brittany rolls her eyes, because this conversation is getting totally off topic now. "Okay, but..." she trails off, tapping her fingers on the countertop anxiously. "What made you pick him over the other guys?"

"His balls."

"God, Jess," Brittany mutters, screwing up her face into a look of distaste. "That's way too much information."

"No, I'm not talking about his manhood," Jessie clarifies, swatting her sister in the arm. "Noel always told me what was on his mind. He wasn't afraid to show his feelings or express to me how he wanted to make me his girl."

Brittany grits her teeth and traces the tiles on the countertop carefully. "He sounds a lot like Santana," she murmurs, her face heating up without notice or even explanation.

Jessie smiles knowingly and pats her sister's flushed cheek before Brittany swats her hand away. "After just three weeks of dating Noel, he came out of nowhere and asked what I thought about marriage," Jessie continues, shaking her head with an airy laugh at just the memory. "I almost broke up with him because I thought he was proposing."

Rubbing the back of her neck guiltily, Brittany squeezes her eyes shut and releases a heavy sigh. "I have a bad feeling I would do the same," she mutters, ashamed.

It's not like she'd be doing it on purpose, but her and her sister are a lot alike in the way that when people start getting too close too soon, the only thing they know how to do is create space or runaway, full speed ahead.

"What made you stay with him?" Brittany asks, her mind still on Santana as she asks this question; Santana's crooked grin, Santana's hysterical laughter, Santana's obsession with superheroes, Santana's collection of Pokémon cards, Santana's habit of always losing the remote at any given opportunity.

Her older sister shrugs as she tries to fit all of the sandwiches into a cooler. "Somewhere, deep inside, I guess I was struck by his honesty. He loved me, and he told me multiple times that he'd do anything for me," she says, sitting on the cooler when the damn thing won't close properly. "None of the other men I dated ever said that to me and truly meant it. _No one _ever said it the way he did."

If it's possible, Brittany's even more conflicted than she was before. "So, what should I do?"

"Just subtly bring up the idea of marriage, find out her view on kids and stuff," Jessie suggests, smoothing down a curl sticking out of Brittany's ponytail. "Just play it cool and be honest with her, babe. That's all the advice I have."

* * *

It's been a tough three and a half weeks. Most of the time, Brittany's tried to distract herself by doing everything she used to do before Santana entered her life.

She hung out with Quinn and Jamie after work. She went out for lunch with Jessie a few times. She gossiped with Kurt about all the latest office scandals. She worked on her presentation for the new autumn line coming out this fall.

(Good news, she actually got a lot of things accomplished. Bad news, she still misses Santana like it's her occupation. Which it isn't.)

It's only Monday morning, yet Santana won't be home until Thursday night, possibly Friday morning depending on the weather and flight times.

Like most Mondays, the day drags on and on and on. The coffee tastes like soggy cardboard, Rachel's voice is even more annoying than usual, Kurt's gossiping sounds more like whining and complaining about a life he wishes he had, the huge pile of work on her desk refuses to lessen no matter how much time and effort she puts into her job, and even her favorite food (shrimp lo mein) tastes like a mixture of plastic and orange tic-tacs.

It's around eight o'clock when she finally barrels through her front door with a weary sigh. Her keys dangle in the lock, and she has to pull extra hard to shake the key out of her doorknob.

She doesn't mean to slam the door shut, but it happens anyway. Either she doesn't know her own strength, or her frustration for Mondays has increased tenfold without her knowledge.

Brittany kicks off her shoes in the hallway and trudges through her living room when she realizes something's off.

(Actually, a few things are off.)

For one, the light in the kitchen is on, which is definitely peculiar. Brittany only ever turns the kitchen light on in the evening since she has the sunlight through her windows during the morning to illuminate her apartment.

Two; when Brittany kicked off her shoes in the hallway, she'd noticed a pair of black heels that weren't there when she left this morning. Hell, those exact heels haven't even been in her apartment for a period of three and a half weeks.

And lastly, there's music playing; soft, jazzy music with a bit of flavor and bump. Brittany only hears it after she stops muttering expletives about doors and keys and the unfairness of life under her breath.

Brittany pauses in the living room, lips parted disbelievingly, her pointer finger suspended in the air. Her eyes dart from the front door to the kitchen, back and forth, back and forth, until she finally finds her bearings and starts moving her immobile feet again.

Slowly and carefully, she takes a step toward the kitchen, but before she can even cross the threshold, Santana appears in the doorway holding a flute glass filled halfway with red wine.

Brittany holds her breath, unable to keep moving forward. Santana just stands there with this knowing smirk twitching at the corner of her lips, as if she can just read every thought zooming through Brittany mind.

(And she probably can.)

She's wearing Brittany's _E=MC Hammer_ t-shirt, some baggy sweat pants, and mismatched socks; one blue with a bunch of little green hearts on it, and the other one just plain gray.

Brittany's mouth opens and closes like the nutcracker, because is this real life? "San..." Again, she says it just to make sure this is real.

Just like on the phone, there's silence, though Brittany doesn't have to worry about what is on Santana's mind, for the smile spread across her cheeks shows her that Santana's happy to see her just as much as she is to see Santana.

"Hi, Britt," Santana whispers, pausing to take a long sip of wine.

A grin cracks across Brittany's cheeks. This smile; it's uncontrollable, it's uncontainable. She can't hide the happiness she feels to see Santana, here, in her apartment again after three and a half weeks of absence.

Without even thinking, she's lurching towards Santana, wrapping her arms around her petite body and spinning her around and around and around. All she can here is Santana's giggling and screaming, yelling about spilling her wine or falling or crashing into a wall.

None of this matters to Brittany. All she cares about is how Santana feels in her arms, the sweet scent of vanilla and honey flooding her scenes as soon as nuzzles her nose into the crook of Santana's neck. And when they kiss, for the first time in twenty-six days, it's like they were never even apart.

Teeth and lips crash together without a care in the world. Santana's legs wrap around her waist as they kiss against the wall, each one deeper and more sensual than the last.

"You're back early," Brittany mumbles against Santana's lips, giggling hysterically when the brunette continues to peck her over and over again like a woodpecker on speed.

"I am," Santana confirms, nodding her head furiously. "You said you missed me, and I missed you too, and since we both miss each other, I figured what the hell, if we could be together again, then we wouldn't have to miss-"

Brittany kisses Santana hard to shut her up, and with a low whimper, Santana continues to mumble something into the kiss until she loses her train of thought and melts into her arms.

(It's only been three and a half weeks, dammit, but oh God, she's missed her so much.)

"I missed you so much," Brittany moans throatily as Santana's lips kiss a trail down her neck and toward her collarbone. Santana chuckles, and Brittany shivers at the feeling of Santana's hot breath against her skin, almost dropping the younger woman in the process.

Santana squeals before Brittany gains her footing again and holds Santana close, and they both can't help but laugh and laugh until they cry, because;

"You have no idea how much I missed you," Brittany sighs, running her hands under Santana's loose t-shirt and up her firm stomach.

Santana hums and closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the wall with a soft thump. "How much?"

"So, so much. I missed you so much, hon," Brittany breathes out, her lips grazing against Santana's ear. "Never go away for that long ever again, okay?"

"Okay," Santana breathes out with an airy laugh.

"Promise?"

"I promise, doobie."

"Don't call me that."

"Okay."

* * *

It's been a few days since Santana's come home and they've been kind of inseparable, except for when they have to go to work, of course.

Brittany has a full time job, and Santana's still working as a paid intern at Quinn's law firm as well as taking a few summer courses in order to receive her law degree ahead of schedule so she can take the New York Bar exam.

In short, they've both been pretty busy lately, yet they still make it a priority to spend time with each other.

As she reads an outdated magazine, Brittany slowly sips her coffee with a grimace. It's a little cold because they've been sitting here for awhile now, and she was eating a blueberry muffin before she tried her coffee, so.

For the last couple of days, Brittany's been thinking about what Jessie told her; about being honest with her feelings and finding out what Santana really wants in life.

She'd meant to ask as soon as Santana came back from her trip, but like a wuss she backed out more than once, afraid it would start some unnecessary awkwardness between them.

All Brittany's been hearing in her head is Jessie's voice as she said, _Just play it cool and be honest with her, babe._

Taking another small sip, Brittany sets her magazine down and bites the corner of her lip. "So..."

"So..." Santana singsongs, glancing up from her phone for a moment with a lopsided smile.

(She is _so _playing it cool right now.)

Brittany bobs her head to the soft music playing through the speakers in the coffee shop. She lets her eyes travel around the room, pausing when her eyes land on a couple standing on line at the counter.

"Do you think that couple over there is married?" She juts her chin in the direction of the man and woman holding hands and waiting for their order to be filled.

Santana peeks up from her phone and gives them a quick once over. "Going by that humongous rock on her finger, I'd say so."

Brittany nods in agreement and waits for Santana to say more, but when she's left with only silence, Brittany clears her throat and sits on the edge of her chair, though it feels more like the edge of a cliff.

"Well..." she trails off, nibbling on her lower lip anxiously. "What do you think about that?"

Santana shrugs a shoulder, distracted. "It's beautiful, I guess," she says, and Brittany gets her hopes up until the younger woman adds, "I wouldn't mind some bling like that, lush."

Brittany deflates a bit and releases a big breath of air. "No," she almost whines, because this is a lot harder than she thought. "I meant what do you think about their marriage?"

Santana shrugs again, her attention completely focused on her iPhone. "Um, I don't know them like that," she murmurs, scrolling through her messages. "Actually, I don't know them at all."

Brittany sighs, leaning forward in her chair. "_Santana_..." she whines, because this is not how she imagined this conversation to go.

"Brittany..." Santana mimics teasingly, finally setting her phone down with a light chuckle. "If you're asking if I think they're a cute couple, then yeah, sure, but marriage is gonna ruin them."

Brittany smiles, happy Santana is finally giving her a straight answer, until she replays the words over in her head and, "What?"

"Sure, they may seem happy now," Santana continues, turning her head to look at the couple as they swing their arms back and forth lovingly. "But just wait..."

Brittany looks over at the couple and raises a brow. "Wait for what?"

"Fifty percent of marriages in America end in divorce, you know, so what's the point?" Santana asks, eyebrows near her hairline, but Brittany's pretty sure it's a rhetorical question when the younger woman doesn't even wait for a response. "Once you're married, the sex becomes non-existent, just a distant memory."

Brittany opens her mouth to protest, because that's just crazy and totally beside the point, but she never gets the chance, because-

"Once you're married, you're not as excited about seeing each other as you used to be, everything becomes about who's paying for whose shit, you barely speak anymore, and eventually you just get bored," Santana concludes, picking up her phone from off the table again. "And more than anything, I hate being bored. You stop trying and give up, and that's when I come in with my lawyer pants and clicky pen."

Santana smiles, a bit condescending, Brittany might add, before dipping her head to look back at her phone.

(She really wasn't lying when she said Santana's been busy lately.)

There's a brief pause in conversation as Brittany tries to pick her jaw up from off the floor. "O...kay," she drawls out, surprised by the younger woman's outburst. "It seems you're strongly passionate about this subject."

Santana shrugs a shoulder and reaches across the table for Brittany's coffee. "Yeah, well," she begins, taking a quick sip before staring at the cup as if it just slapped her in the face. "Just believe me, I know from experience. And this coffee is cold and gross. Let me get you another one, sweets."

Santana gets up from the small table, but Brittany grabs her wrist at the last moment to keep her from walking off. She knows she shouldn't ask, especially after that unexpected outburst, but she knows it's going to come up some time or another, so why not mention it now too?

"Well, what about..." Brittany begins hesitantly, biting the corner of her lip when Santana stares down at her with an arched brow. Clearing her throat roughly, Brittany sits up in her seat and softly murmurs, "Kids?"

Santana doesn't even verbally answer the question. All she does is crinkle her nose into a look of disgust and furiously shake her head before sliding her arm out of Brittany's grasp to go order another cup of coffee.

And all Brittany can do is sit there and stare as her heart shrivels like hypertonic blood cell, but in a bad way.


	8. Chapter 8

_Goofy: i wonder what day tmrw is..._

_Me: omg, I can't believe you forgot :(_

_Goofy: lol I didn't forget. Tmrw is that awesome sale at Macy's, duh._

_Me: -_-_

_Goofy: you know I'm just kidding baby. I would never never ever forget your special day ;)_

_Me: never never ever?_

_Goofy: never never ever times infinity!_

* * *

So many ideas and questions are floating through her brain, but right now, as she stands here, utterly conflicted and on the verge of collapse, all she has is the attention span to focus on the two most important questions staring her right in the face;

First question: How do you break up with someone who technically isn't even your girlfriend?

Second question: How do you break up with someone you've mistakenly fallen in love with?

(Welcome to the complex mind of Brittany S. Pierce.)

It's her birthday, her twenty-ninth birthday, to be more precise, and instead of out celebrating with her friends and family, Brittany's sulking in her office, staring blankly out the window, down at the city streets below.

She sighs, because what else can she do, really? She was stupid to think she ever had a say in how her life would turn out. Did she really think she was so special to get an opportunity to trick fate and choose her own destiny?

Maybe it was suppose to turn out this way all along. Tilting her head sideways, Brittany lets out a huff and fiddles with her iPhone anxiously. Maybe she was meant to end this relationship between herself and Santana since the very beginning.

Taking a deep breath, Brittany scrolls through her phone until she comes across _Goofy_. Chewing on her upper lip guiltily, Brittany's thumb hovers over the name for a moment before she eventually presses down on the screen.

_Goofy: Happy birthday baby! I'm such a lucky gal to have a woman so strong and independent in my life. I love you and hope you have a great day. See you later ;)_

Brittany had received this message in the cab on her way to work this morning. At the time, she had smiled at the text, cheeks heating up flamingly, but now her heart sinks low into her stomach whenever she rereads these words.

She's supposed to meet up with Santana after work to go to this secret place the younger woman told her about. To be honest, Brittany kind of just wants to go home and cry into her pillow, but she can't really ditch Santana like that, even if it's _her_ birthday.

It's been getting harder and harder each day to keep up the charade of everything being normal. Santana's asked her more than once, _Are you okay, baby?_ and Brittany always lies and says, _I'm fine, San,_ but in reality, all she can hear is Santana's low, angry voice; _Fifty percent of marriages in America end in divorce, you know, so what's the point?  
_  
She's twenty-nine now. There's no going back, so she might as well embrace it. She should be happy and ready to move on to that next chapter in her life.

(If she had a next chapter, that is.)

It's time for her to flip the page and begin a whole new section in the book she never even knew existed. She's suppose to be happy, she's suppose to be happy, she's suppose to be happy. It's a repetitive mantra in her head, echoing loudly and insistently, until she knows and absolutely believes what she has is what she wants. But days like this, days like her twenty-ninth birthday, to be exact, really makes Brittany reconsider her past choices and what she really wants out of the rest of her life.

Right now, though, she's trapped in a goldfish bowl in the house of a happy family who always eats dinner together, watches tv on the couch in the living room, and plays board games on Sunday nights before bed.

Brittany's never felt more pitiful before in her entire life. Just seeing other couples and their little babies make her want to throw up, or...snatch her phone out of her purse and make a rash decision.

Sure, she's thought about it; breaking up with Santana really fast over the phone and never looking back, but 1) that would be really shitty, 2) Santana still has some of her things at her apartment, and 3) Brittany doubts she'll be able to get away from Santana for long considering her best friend is her lover's boss.

"Brittany Susan Pierce!"

As she whips her head around, startled by the sudden intrusion, something cracks in her neck, causing her to wince in pain. It's her fault, really, because she should have known to keep her door locked. Jessie always makes it a habit to pop in on her at work every year - on this specific day in particular.

(And today is no exception.)

With a smirk, Jessie leans a shoulder against the doorframe, holding a huge gift basket in her right hand and a cup of coffee in the other. Brittany attempts a smile but she's pretty sure it comes out as more of a grimace.

"Jess, what are you doing here?" she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

With a roll of her eyes, Jessie steps into the office. "How dare you ask me such a stupid question?" she gasps, lifting the gift basket into a nearby chair. "It's your birthday, and I'm your sister, so obviously I'm taking you out to lunch."

"Obviously," Brittany mutters, rubbing the back of her neck as she plops down into the chair behind her desk.

"Anywhere you wanna go, hon," Jessie singsongs cheerfully, perching herself on the corner of Brittany's desk. "On me."

Brittany shrugs a shoulder, disinterested. "I don't really feel up to doing anything today, Jess. My stomach really hurts and...I...I got my period, so."

Jessie doesn't even bother considering the excuse, which Brittany thinks is kind of rude. "Bullshit, B. We've been on the same flow for fifteen years now," she points out, arching a brow. "You're lying. And whenever you lie, it's always about Santana."

"It's not about Santana."

"Britt..."

Brittany groans and bangs her head against the desktop. "Fine, it's about Santana."

Jessie runs her fingers through her little sister's golden locks. "What happened now?" she coos, placing her cup of coffee against her lips for a quick sip.

Let's see; what happened now? Well, 1) the woman she's mistakenly fallen in love with hates marriage as if it beat her up in an alley and stole all her money, 2) Santana's disgusted by just the word children, and 3) her almost-girlfriend is only twenty-one and definitely not ready for a huge step like marriage and children in her life anyway.

(Sure, things could definitely be worst, but right now Brittany can't really think of anything.)

With her face smushed against the mahogany desktop, Brittany squeezes her eyes shut and says, "I think I'm gonna break up with her."

Jessie almost chokes on her coffee. Eventually, she swallows uncomfortably and clears her throat. "Why?" she asks incredulously, eyebrows pinched together. "I thought you were in love with her."

Yeah, that's true. Brittany is in love with her, which just makes this I-want-to-breakup-with-you thing at least ten times harder than it should be.

Breaking up with people in the past was just so easy in comparison to nowadays. Every time she imagines going through with it, all she can see is Santana's shocked expression and sad eyes and heartbreaking pout.

(It would totally break her heart to break Santana's heart.)

"God, don't remind me," Brittany mumbles, her voice muffled against the desktop.

In retrospect, this is actually all Jessie's fault. Brittany was happy in her little bubble of oblivion until Jessie came along and told her to start questioning shit.

"I did what you told me to do, and she said no," Brittany whines, staring face down.

She's pretty sure she has a red mark on her forehead now, but maybe she'll get lucky and a hunter will think her head is a target, then none of this will no longer be an issue.

"Wait," Jessie pauses, stilling her fingers in Brittany's hair. "What are you referring to?"

"I asked San what she thought about marriage, and she went off on this rambling rampage about statistics and sexless individuals and boredom," Brittany explains, lifting her head up slowly. "So, then, I asked her about kids, and she made this constipated baby face and shook her head as if I just told her I had gonorrhea."

Setting her cup of coffee beside her, Jessie rakes her fingers through blonde hair and pouts sympathetically. "Aw, Britt," she murmurs, leaning down to kiss her little sister on the forehead. Jessie is quiet for a moment, grey eyes squinted suspiciously as she stares forward. "You don't have gonorrhea, do you?"

Brittany doesn't even contemplate answering the question, just rolls her eyes and sighs, "Now she wants me to meet her parents, and that's not even an option. I might as well just dig myself an even bigger grave."

Jessie immediately shakes her head, insisting, "You have to meet her parents."

Surprised, Brittany peeks up from under her eyelashes. "And why is that?"

"And you can't breakup with her," Jessie adds as an afterthought, nodding to herself.

"Why not?"

"You love her, Brittany," Jessie exasperates, as if it should be obvious. "And she loves you."

(If it were only that easy.)

Brittany still looks dubious, so Jessie continues with, "There are so many people in this world who aren't lucky enough or blessed enough to find that special person." She places a finger under Brittany's chin to tilt her head upward. "But you've finally found her, B. You finally found _the one_."

(Her older sister looks at her as if all of this should mean something, and sure, it kind of does, but it's not meaning what she wants it to mean.)

Brittany blinks, unresponsive, so Jessie takes matters into her own hands, saying, "For years, you've been searching for someone just like Santana, and look, you found her without even looking." Once again, there's nothing but silence as a response. Knitting her eyebrows together, Jessie asks, "She's what you want, isn't she?"

Brittany shrugs. "Yeah, but-"

"And she makes you happy?"

"Of course, Jessica, but I think-"

Cutting Brittany off with a waggle of her finger, Jessie continues, "And you can't help but think about her all day, everyday?"

Reluctant to give in, Brittany rolls her eyes to the ceiling and whispers, "Yes..."

"Then don't set yourself up for failure. Don't be so selfless where you can't even give yourself what you want for once in your life," Jessie advises, taking Brittany's hand in hers. "Meet her family, B. And if you fall in love with them just as much as you have with Santana, then she's the girl for you."

(It all makes more sense than she wishes it did.)

Brittany's always been keen to do things the easy way. Sure, breaking up with Santana on her birthday definitely would not be easy, but staying in an uncertain relationship with a woman eight years younger than her is no walk in the park either.

Brittany has a lot of thinking to do, she knows that, but until then, all she can do is give her sister a hug and a kiss on the cheek for being so damn smart, in more ways than one.

* * *

The obstetrician waiting room always smells so clean. And not the good kind of clean; it smells like an overwhelming blend of hand sanitizer, bleach, and sterilized hand soap. Brittany crinkles her nose and tries not to inhale through her mouth, because every time she breathes in, the taste of air freshener and dog shampoo settles on her tongue and makes her gag.

Quinn doesn't really seem bothered by the scent as she reads a parenting magazine and hums to the music coming from the speakers in the waiting room. Maybe it's the pregnant woman in her.

(Hormones and all.)

Quinn has more important things to worry about than disinfectant smells anyway, like pushing a baby the size of a cocoanut out of her vagina.

As she trails her eyes around the waiting room, Brittany comes to a heart wrenching realization. She's the only woman in here without a baby bump. Biting her bottom lip self-consciously, she looks down at her flat stomach and frowns.

She knows Santana won't ever be able to impregnate her or anything, but it would be kind of cool to pretend the younger woman's baby was growing in her stomach. A little Santana. She's never seen a baby picture of the college student, but something tells her Santana was the most adorable baby in the 90s.

Brittany pats her firm abs with a sigh. Yeah, that's never gonna happen, so why does she even torture herself with these useless thoughts? Thoughts of settling down, buying a house in the suburbs, feeding her baby with a rocket ship spoon, wiping tomato sauce off her children's round cheeks.

(Is it weird that she imagines her kids with dark hair, brown eyes, and tanned skin?)

Quinn's now starting to show. She's around that part of her pregnancy where it's a battle every morning when buttoning up her jeans. Quinn complained about it the whole ride over here, whining about the upcoming stretch marks and how the baby's kicking keeps her up at night, but Brittany, with her hollow stomach, would give anything to have problems like that.

At five months pregnant, the obstetrician can now tell what sex the baby is, but Quinn and Sam have decided to keep it a surprise. Brittany, being one of the least patient people in New York, and possibly even the world, would go insane wondering about the sex of her baby. Just thinking about it now makes Brittany nibble on her thumbnail anxiously.

"Britt?"

"Hmm?"

Quinn's staring at her with a look of concern, eyebrows raised expectantly. "You hungry or something?" she asks, gesturing to Brittany's hands. "Because you're sure going to town on those fingernails of yours."

Brittany removes her thumb from her mouth and looks down at her hands. "Old habits die hard," she murmurs, shrugging a shoulder.

Quinn still looks skeptical as she lowers her magazine down onto her protruding stomach. "I never knew you bit your nails," she muses, hazel eyes watching Brittany closely. "Aren't habits like that usually triggered by nerves or anxiety?"

Brittany doesn't answer, because, well, she doesn't exactly know how. Not only has the baby thing been bothering her lately, but as of last night, Santana's been acting quite peculiar as well.

That's nothing out of the ordinary, really, because the younger woman is usually nothing short of strange, but something about last night just didn't feel right when Santana took her to her secret place. The girl was unusually quiet, refused to make eye contact at times, and didn't call her baby even once.

"You've seemed really jittery this morning, and I can't help but notice this only comes on when you're tired," Quinn recalls, squinting her eyes suspiciously. "There are bags under your eyes. Not too noticeable, but noticeable enough. How much sleep did you get last night, Britt?"

"Um," Brittany murmurs, glancing to the ceiling. "About six hours?"

"Six hours, hmm?" Quinn cocks her head to the side and smirks. "Now, how much of this time did you spend dreaming of Santana?"

"I wasn't-"

"Speaking of Santana," Quinn continues, cutting Brittany off mid-sentence. "What was her big birthday surprise last night?"

Rolling her eyes in amusement, Brittany slumps back in her seat and sighs, "Did you just lawyer me?"

Quinn bites the corner of her lip with that coy, little smile of hers and returns her magazine to the coffee table. "Big surprise..." she singsongs, blatantly ignoring Brittany's question.

After a brief stare off, Brittany finally relents, because it's a well-known fact Quinn can go without blinking for at least a whole three minutes. "She took me up to the roof of her apartment where we cuddled in a blanket, watched the invisible stars, and drank wine," Brittany mumbles, shrugging a shoulder.

"Aw," Quinn coos, poking Brittany in the stomach teasingly. "How romantic."

"Yeah," Brittany shrugs again, calmly chipping her nail polish. "I guess."

"I guess? Brittany, I would _pay_ Sam to do those kinda things for me, and here you are moping about the most romantic college student ever," Quinn exasperates, rolling up a magazine and whacking her friend in the arm with it. "I used to think everyone her age was on drugs, but Santana's totally proved me wrong."

Brittany sighs through her nose to withhold from tasting the Febreze permeating throughout the room. "I don't know, Q. It was like our first date all over again. Everything just felt so stiff," she explains, crossing her legs and shifting in her chair until she's comfortable. "And normally Santana can't stop talking about anything and everything, but last night she was just so oddly quiet and thoughtful."

"Maybe she was just nervous," Quinn suggests.

"Santana hasn't been nervous around me since our second date. Like, she totally walks around my apartment naked half the time," Brittany points out, twisting her lips to the side thoughtfully. "I mean, she could've just been tired. I picked her up from school last week and she was wearing an _I-Hate-Mondays_ t-shirt, and it was Thursday."

"I'm sure it was just all in your head," Quinn says, but when Brittany gives her a questioning look, she adds, "You know, because of what she said a few weeks ago..."

"Oh. Right," Brittany scoffs, rolling her eyes. "_That_. It was so much easier when the idea of Santana wanting everything I wanted was just a hopeful thought in the back of my mind."

"Hey, you never know, Britt. Maybe she will want those things someday," Quinn proposes, placing a hand on her round stomach. "But you have to remember she's only twenty-one. You can't really expect _anything_ from her right now. Just be patient, Britt. Sam and I were."

Brittany tries to smile for her best friend, because not everything is about her. Quinn and Sam can't just easily pop out babies like some sort of machine either. They were patient and remained hopeful, and now they have a little girl and another baby on the way. Who knows what could be one the way for Brittany.

(After all, you can't see the future for a reason.)

* * *

There's an old man on the subway who keeps giving her these creepy, perverted looks. She ignores it the best she can and concentrates on the puzzle she's trying to complete on her iPhone.

Just three more stops until she's at Santana's school. Ever since she got back from Chicago, Brittany's been making it a priority to meet up with her and take her out for lunch.

Just another tradition, or ritual between them. Brittany's not sure how she feels about traditions. She never wanted to get so comfortable in this relationship, but life sort of just happened.

(And you can't fight life, right?)

The train jerks to a stop, and Brittany silently thanks God she only has two more stops until she's at NYU. The creep is still staring at her like she's got three heads, but she tries to ignore it by looking down at her phone.

Sometimes, Brittany treats the people she sees in New York like rapid dogs. Don't make eye contact. Eye contact is a sign of aggression. You can see fear in the eyes of people. Eyes are the window to one's soul. If you can't see their eyes, you can't determine whether they're a threat or not.

Brittany's just about to solve a puzzle she's been stuck on for ten minutes when her phone vibrates in her hand.

_Goofy: Call me when you get a chance_

Brittany calls her as soon as she taps out of the text message.

"Hello?" Santana's muffled voice answers after the first ring, exasperation in her tone.

"Hey, babe," Brittany says, smiling crookedly. "I'm on my way."

Santana clicks her tongue with a heavy sigh. "That's the thing," she says slowly, carefully. Brittany furrows her eyebrows and waits for her to continue. "My brother is here."

"Where?"

"At my school," Santana explains with an annoyed huff. "He just, like, turned up, so we're gonna get lunch at that Italian restaurant down the block from our bookstore."

Brittany side glances at the perverted creep, who's still blatantly staring her down. "Oh...okay, that's cool," she says, crossing and uncrossing her legs uncomfortably. "I suppose I can just get lunch with Quinn and Kurt or something."

Santana chuckles, and Brittany's not really sure what's so funny until, "Why would you do that when you can eat lunch with two of the greatest people on earth?"

"Um," Brittany murmurs under her breath, because that's a really good question. "I just...I wouldn't want to impose on your lunch or anything."

"Nonsense. If anyone's imposing, it's _him_," Santana reassures her. "And I've wanted the two of you to meet for awhile now anyway. Please say you'll come."

At Santana's insistence, Brittany finally lets the heavy tension flow out of her body. Things between them have been kind of strained ever since Brittany brought up the whole marriage and kids thing, and she wasn't really sure if Santana caught on to her earlier plan to break things off.

(After all, the younger woman's been pretty distant as well.)

"Fine, okay," Brittany relents, letting out an airy laugh. "I'll come."

"Hmm," Santana hums through the speaker. "Make sure you use those same words later tonight."

Brittany smirks and holds the phone closer to her ear. "Only if you ask nicely."

Santana snorts, and Brittany can't help but roll her eyes. "Hey, Britt, we're about to head into the restaurant," she says, her voice a little muffled all of a sudden. "I'll see you when you get here, okay?"

Looking out the window, Brittany nods her head. "Okay, see you."

"Be safe, baby," Santana singsongs with a kissy sound, then the line goes dead.

Brittany hangs up and looks across the train. The perverted creep is still looking at her, but instead of a blank expression on his old, wrinkly face, he's smiling kindly at her, as if he gets it or something, because apparently everyone understands love except for her.

* * *

Santana's brother is, well…honest. This is the best word she can come up with to describe him. He's a good looking man, which isn't very surprising. Brittany's seen many pictures of him, and if it's possible, the guy looks even better in person, but his personality could use a little work.

As soon as she gets to the restaurant and approaches their table, the first words out of Rudy's mouth are, "Hot damn, my sister's fucking a super model."

Sure, Brittany could take it as a compliment, but Rudy says it so loud, half the restaurant stops eating to turn their heads and stare at her.

Santana just rolls her eyes and smacks her brother in the side of the head, as if this is something she hears him say everyday. "Sorry, baby," she whispers, which is the first of many apologies this afternoon.

Ducking her head to hide from the curious eyes staring at her, Brittany clears her throat and slides into the booth next to Santana, who presses a quick kiss to her lips. Then right on cue, Rudy makes a crude joke about, "If only you weren't gay," which she isn't, not exactly, but it still makes Brittany throw up a little in her mouth.

Santana tries to initiate conversation, just some awkward small talk about the weather and music and television shows until the waitress comes over to take their drink orders.

"Hot damn," Rudy exclaims, trailing his eyes up and down the waitress's body. "What I would do to get up that apron."

With a deep scowl in her brother's direction, Santana immediately apologizes to the waitress on Rudy's behalf; not once, but twice, because when the waitress comes back with the drinks, Rudy even tries to slip a napkin with his phone number on it into the women's apron pocket.

Again, Santana smacks his hand and tears up the napkin until the number is no longer recognizable, and all Brittany can do is remain silent and watch in half-amusement, half-disbelief.

(She doesn't have any brothers, so it's not like she can really judge.)

The only thing that really distracts Brittany from Santana's manner-less brother is the skinny busboy with the nasty green piece of spinach stuck between his two front teeth. She can't stop looking at it, because it's just there, all green and mushy and definitely distracting her from enjoying her lunch every time he comes around to pick up their empty plates or refill their drinks.

Brittany's not sure why, but Santana's been uncharacteristically quiet throughout lunch unless she's scolding Rudy for doing something stupid. Brittany supposes she's just embarrassed about her brother and his lack of filter until the younger woman abruptly excuses herself to the bathroom.

(Now, she's not sure what it is.)

Once Santana's out of earshot, Rudy smiles at her from across the table. "How old are you?"

Brittany uses all of her restraint to withhold from banging her head against the table. "You know..." she begins calmly, stirring a straw around her glass of water. "It's not really appropriate to ask a woman her age."

Rudy bites the corner of his lip, desperately holding back a grin. "Let me guess," he chuckles, sitting up straight in his seat, but before Brittany can refuse, Rudy blurts out, "Thirty-two!"

A few annoyed glances are shot their way, and Brittany turns her head toward the wall in order to avoid the customers' glaring eyes.

"You know Santana's only twenty-one, right?" he asks, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, I know," Brittany grits, starting stir her water faster and faster. "We've been dating for eight months now."

"Dating?"

"That's what I said..."

"But she told me you said no to being her girlfriend," Rudy recalls, shrugging a shoulder as he takes a sip of his soda. "That you're afraid of commitment or something."

Brittany drops her fork into her plate. It rattles noisily, but she's not really concerned about disturbing anybody's lunch anymore. Rudy just shrugs another shoulder as she stares straight through him, trying her best to completely understand what's going on here.

The woman who hates marriage with a passion says _she's_ afraid of commitment? All Brittany's ever wanted is commitment. She's not afraid of it, just reluctant to fully give herself to someone who will never see her as a wife or a mother.

Brittany narrows her eyes on Rudy, set on telling him all of the rebuttals to his statement, but she eventually decides it's not worth it. He'll probably just tell Santana everything she says anyway.

After about two whole minutes of uncomfortable silence, Brittany excuses herself from the table. As she walks across the restaurant and squeezes through tables, it feels as if every pair of eyes are set on her, slowly dissecting her, staring straight through her body, discovering her secrets, reading her every thought.

When she walks into the women's bathroom, finally escaping the judgmental stares, Brittany stops in her tracks. Santana's standing in front of the mirror, wiping the remnants of her smeared eyeliner away with a roll of toilet paper.

The younger woman could just be touching up her makeup, Brittany supposes, but the redness in her eyes indicates she's been crying.

"Babe?" Brittany stands a few feet behind Santana until she can see her own reflection.

Startled, Santana snaps her head up and their eyes meet in the mirror. Looking back down at the sink, she sniffles and wipes her nose with a tissue. "Please don't," she sighs, fluttering her eyelashes rapidly. "Please don't call me that."

Brittany can only watch in confusion, because she doesn't really understand what's happening right now. She could've sworn lunch was going fine other than Santana's indecent brother.

(Was it something she said?)

Despite her obvious confusion, Brittany shrugs a heavy shoulder and says, "I'm...sorry."

"For...?" Santana drawls, turning away from the sink, brown eyes piercing through Brittany's baby blues questioningly.

Brittany actually doesn't know what she did wrong this time. It could be anything; maybe she didn't order the correct appetizer; maybe she's been eating her food too slowly; maybe she forgot to compliment the waiting staff.

"For..." Brittany trails off, racking her brain for anything she could have done wrong over the last couple of days. "For hurting you?"

Santana sighs under her breath, exhausted, and turns back around to face the mirror. Silence surrounds them as Santana shuffles through her purse for her eyeliner.

Brittany can't take the silence; she can practically hear her own heart thumping loudly in her chest. "Okay, fine, I don't know why I'm apologizing," she admits, throwing her hands up in surrender. "What did I do wrong now?"

Santana chuckles bitterly, rolling her eyes up to the ceiling in frustration. "You just confirmed my suspicions," she whispers, smirking at her reflection as she applies more eyeliner.

Brittany hasn't seen this version of Santana since she rejected her offer to be the younger woman's girlfriend. She doesn't know what sparked this attitude all of a sudden, but she's going to find out.

"San," Brittany murmurs, trying to get the other woman's attention. "What are you talking about?"

Santana doesn't answer at first, just smiles at herself in the mirror, and Brittany's not even sure if she heard the question until, "Is that why you don't wanna be in a committed relationship?"

Brittany crinkles her nose and narrows her eyes, completely lost. "San, I don't-"

"Know what I'm talking about? I'm not blind, Brittany," Santana mutters, her voice a little shaky as she tries to hold back tears.

Brittany can see it in her big brown eyes; they're glossy and red, and she's totally about to start sobbing in about five or ten minutes. Brittany's seen it happen before; it's utterly heartbreaking to witness the sadness in the person you love.

"That busboy has been eye-fucking you ever since we sat down," Santana clenches her jaw, violently stuffing her makeup back into her purse. "And all you did was smile and stare back while I sat right next to you."

At this point, Brittany can only stare forward with a slack jack. "Wait..." she mumbles, darting her eyes from the door to Santana's reflection in the mirror. "What?"

(To be honest, she never took Santana as the crazy, possessive type, but hey, you never know who you're falling in love with until you've fallen in love.)

"And the other day, when I came to surprise you at work for your birthday," Santana continues, running a hand through her dark locks. "I see you hugging some blonde whore in your office. Your _glass_ office, Brittany."

Brittany can't really remember the last time Santana called her by her full name. Was it the second date? Or maybe the third? Who knows? All Brittany knows is that Santana loves pet names more than her own pet, so when the younger woman starts calling her _Brittany_, she knows there's definitely something wrong.

"You came to my job?" Brittany knows that's not really the point. She _was_ just accused of cheating, after all, but she didn't even know Santana knew where she worked.

"Mhmm…" Santana crosses her arms over her chest and nods smugly. "Sure did."

"Oh my God," Brittany murmurs under her breath as realization smacks her in the face.

(It's so damn obvious what's happening here that she can't believe she didn't see it before.)

"You think I'm seeing other people, so you're projecting this negative view of me banging every person I make eye contact with." Santana just shrugs a shoulder, not exactly denying the theory, so Brittany automatically knows her assumptions are correct. "You realize how ridiculous that sounds, right?"

Santana scoffs, taken aback by the judgmental question, and shakes her head slowly, wistfully. "If you can so openly flirt with a guy right in front of my face and go around humping blondes, who knows what you're doing behind closed doors."

(It's Brittany's turn to scoff, because did Santana just call her a slut?)

"I wasn't flirting with him, San. I was staring at him because he had a piece of spinach in his teeth," she explains, rolling her eyes at this whole situation, because there's no reason why she should even have to defend herself in the first place. "And that blonde whore? Yeah, that's my older sister. She was just _visiting_ me, San, not humping me."

That last tidbit of information actually feels quite good to admit, especially when seeing the look on Santana's face; her eyes are stretched wide, nose crunched up, lips pursed, eyebrows furrowed.

(Damn, she's fucking adorable.)

"Look who the jealous one is now," Brittany singsongs, finally finding it safe to reach out and take Santana's hand, until the younger woman snatches her fingers away, that is.

Wiping a finger under her glossy eyes, Santana inhales sharply, as if she can't believe she just did that herself. "I'm not really in the mood, Britt."

"San, I'm not sleeping with anyone else," Brittany chuckles, squinting her eyes disbelievingly, because is this what it's come down to? They're barely dating, but fidelity and honestly is somehow necessary and expected?

"Okay," Santana shrugs, hauling the strap of her purse over her shoulder. "I believe you."

"Then what's the problem?"

"I feel..." Santana looks to the corner of the restroom, brown eyes beginning to shine all over again. "I feel like we're heading towards a dead end."

Brittany watches, a little dumbfounded, as Santana blinks and another fast tear rolls down her cheek. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, what are we _doing_, Britt?"

For the first time in awhile, Santana's voice is at a normal volume, but the acoustics in the bathroom make it sound even louder, and the echo kind of startles Brittany.

"You don't want to commit, you don't want to be my girlfriend," Santana exasperates, squeezing the bridge of her nose in frustration. "I just...maybe we should..."

Brittany swallows the lump in her throat and narrows her eyes. "Maybe we should what?"

"We both want two different things," Santana continues in a rush, rubbing the side of her arm up and down, up and down.

It's true, in a way. They both _do_ want two different things. Brittany wants to go all the way and ask Santana to be her wife, while all Santana wants is to be her girlfriend.

If she had a ring right now and knew Santana wanted to marry her, she'd totally get down on one knee - well, maybe not in here, because the floor is kind of gross - and ask Santana for her hand in marriage.

They've been together long enough in Brittany's eyes to make that type of snap decision. Like Jessie said; she's been waiting for someone like Santana to come along her entire life.

The girl is perfect in every way, except for the whole age difference thing, but she can't blame Santana for being so young, so unready, so allergic to the idea of marriage. That's just who Santana is, and Brittany loves Santana, so she can't change her, and she won't change her.

Releasing a heavy sigh, her chest rising and falling slightly under her loose t-shirt, Santana rests her backside against the sink and murmurs, "I just don't want to end up nowhere, you know?"

(It's the same thing Brittany wants; they're so close, yet so far.)

Santana's voice sounds so little and fragile, and Brittany just wants to reach out and hold her, tell her she loves her, that she can't live without her, but she doesn't want to give out any false hopes, and she doubts the younger woman would embrace her comforting touch right now anyway, so Brittany plants her feet firmly on the ground and stays where she is.

"Santana," Brittany whispers, shaking head in disbelief at the regret in Santana's dark eyes. "Are you _seriously_ breaking up with me in the women's restroom?"

Santana flinches at her tone, and now Brittany feels bad, because she didn't mean to sound as angry as she feels. She's usually the one who can control her emotions; it's Santana who has a hard time hindering her feelings.

Santana stalls, her brown eyes darting every which way. "I-I don't..." she trails off, twisting her fingers together anxiously.

Ironically, it was just a week ago when Brittany planned to breakup with Santana, and all along, the other woman has been having the same thoughts. Although it was her idea first, Brittany still feels a bit hurt by the discovery of this.

It's pretty obvious Santana's never broken up with anyone in her entire life considering the way she's silently starting to hyperventilate, sweat forming on her temples as she tries her best to withhold from vomiting.

Concerned, Brittany moves forward in hopes of holding Santana in her arms, but just as she's about to, the bathroom door creaks open and a tiny redhead steps inside.

The woman kind of just stands there, eyes darting back and forth around the room. "Am I interrupt something important?" she asks sheepishly, then immediately cringes, because of course she's interrupting something.

"Um, yeah, you kind of are," Santana answers, a bit hostile, as she wipes the remaining tears away from her eyes.

More than anything, Santana hates it when strangers see her cry. Brittany knows this, so when the ginger doesn't leave, she's definitely expecting an explosion.

Santana puffs up her cheeks, lets out an exhale, and mutters, "So, would you mind fucking off then?"

(It's a quiet explosion, but an explosion nonetheless.)

"San..." Brittany whispers, giving Santana a scolding look. The younger woman immediately shuts her yap, clenching her teeth so hard Brittany can see her jaw working through her tanned skin.

The redhead looks taken aback for all of two seconds before she moves a step forward and says, "This is a public bathroom, and I really have to pee, so you can either wait until I'm done, keep going on with your conversation, or find somewhere else to verbally abuse your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"She's not verbally abusive."

(Can you guess who said what?)

They silently stare at each other, but Santana is the first to break eye contact and look down at her shoes, clearly ashamed by her behavior.

"Um..." The redhead glances back and forth between them before hesitantly scurrying into a stall.

Brittany learns three very important things within this moment; 1) listening to a stranger pee is really uncomfortable, 2) listening to a stranger pee beside the woman you love is even more uncomfortable, and 3) did it just get ten times more awkward when the toilet flushed, or is it just her?

As the redhead washes her hands in the sink, Santana purses her lips and stares up at the ceiling. Brittany's pretty certain the younger woman hasn't even blinked in the last four minutes, totally breaking Quinn's record.

Once the ginger leaves, they're alone again, and Brittany inwardly cringes at the awkwardness of it all. They've known each other for eight months, goddammit, but when one person tries to unsuccessfully breakup with the other, that's when things get weird? Like, seriously?

Brittany's learned all about Santana's strange anime porn fetish, and Santana has discovered Brittany's stash of forniphilia magazines, but it wasn't weird before. It seems they can deal with everything except honesty nowadays.

"I just..."

Santana speaks up suddenly, breaking the heavy silence, and Brittany doesn't really know what to do with herself, so she just sticks her hands into her back pockets.

"I don't want to end up like my brother. Alone, with no one to depend on," Santana continues with a light shrug, biting her bottom lip so hard, Brittany swears she's about to break the skin. "Rudy's been pining after the same girl since high school, but she doesn't want him, and it's turned him into a mess. And now, I'm doing the same thing with you, but I won't let it ruin my life."

(If only they can get on the same page, but first they need to be in the same book.)

"I _do_ want the same things as you," Brittany insists, taking a hesitant step forward. "Just not _all_ of the same things that you want in the same way."

After a beat of a second, Santana screws her face up into a look of confusion. "What?" she questions. "That doesn't make any se-"

Once again, the bathroom door creaks open.

Undeniably frustrated, Santana can only roll her eyes to the ceiling and release an obnoxiously loud sigh. "You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me."

Seemingly used to barging in on heated discussions, the intruder, a leggy blonde with super red lips, just whispers, "Sorry," before scrambling into an empty stall.

"No problem," Brittany calls after her, then sends Santana a pointed look.

"What?"

"We're in a public bathroom, San."

"I am aware."

Sighing through her nose, Brittany rubs at her temples. "Can we just, like, pause this conversation and continue it at a more private location?" she asks sensibly, raising her eyebrows. "I can tell you're about to say something you really don't mean. Let's just talk about this later, okay?"

Santana has this look on her face; the one that always refuses to back down from what she believes in, but eventually the look goes away. When she reluctantly nods her head in agreement, Brittany releases a heavy sigh and hopes this doesn't make the rest of their lunch awkward.

* * *

The rest of lunch is awkward.

Rudy is the only one who talks when they get back. Either he doesn't notice the strange tension between them, or he just doesn't care.

Throughout the rest of lunch, he continues to tell offensive jokes and make inappropriate comments about the waiting staff, but Santana doesn't even stop him anymore, so Brittany just tries to inhale her food as fast as possible.

All she wants to do is go back to work and escape this tension. It's so thick, she can cut it in half with her steak knife. Even the busboy seems to sense it when he comes over to collect the rest of their dishes at the end of lunch.

Before they get up to leave, Rudy makes sure to write his number on the bill. Annoyed, Santana grabs a pen out of the waitress's apron and scribbles out the digits until it's no longer recognizable.

"Sorry about my idiot brother," Santana apologizes to the waitress, as soon as Rudy makes a beeline to the exit. "He fell down the steps head first as an infant and never truly recovered."

Once they're standing outside the restaurant and Santana's hugged her big brother goodbye, she turns to Brittany and apologizes for him multiple times. "He means well, just sometimes he has a weird way of showing it."

Distracted, Brittany watches as Rudy walks down the block and around the corner. "Does he live nearby?"

"No, he still lives at home, but I think he's staying with a friend right now," Santana says, tucking her hands into her pockets as they cross the street side by side. "My mom tends to kick him out every now and then."

The way Santana says it, like it's something that happens all of the time, has Brittany questioning, "Why?"

Santana curses under her breath when a cab comes this close to hitting them, and she quickly takes Brittany's hand to pull her along.

"He's very..." Santana trails off, a little distracted at the moment as she tries to dodge traffic. "Rudy's pretty adventurous when it comes to bringing women home, and my mom just can't take it sometimes and makes him leave."

As they cross another street, a car honks at them, and without even turning her head, Santana flips him off and keeps on moving.

"Within a week she always takes him back though," Santana continues once they're back on the sidewalk. "He's just a big momma's boy. Never really left home. Part-time asshole, full-time moocher."

Brittany holds on tighter to Santana's hand when a man tries to squeeze in between them. "What does your dad think about this?"

"My dad," Santana chuckles humorlessly, shaking her head, and Brittany arches an eyebrow at the bitter tone in her voice. "Let's just say he's not really opinionated on the women Rudy spends his time with. Or anything for that matter."

The last bit is muttered under her breath, and Brittany doesn't quite hear it fully. She's just about to ask if Santana can repeat that, but the brunette swiftly changes the subject.

"So," Santana begins, hip-checking Brittany with a lopsided smile, and the blonde smiles back, because it feels good to see her girl grinning again. "You still coming out to Queens this weekend? I already told my mom you were tagging along, so..."

Brittany smirks and leans in to peck Santana on the cheek. The younger woman smells so good; like mangos, Brittany decides, and pecks Santana on the corner of her mouth just to taste some more.

"Yeah, of course I'm still coming, San," Brittany reassures her, mindlessly fiddling with Santana's fingers as they come to a stop outside the gates of NYU.

Santana smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes, so Brittany pokes her in the cheek until there's a real smile gracing Santana's cheeks.

"Are we okay?" Santana whispers, eyes shy and cautious.

Brittany wants to be as honest as possible in her response, but the truth is she has no idea what they are. "I don't know," she murmurs, carefully wrapping Santana's arms around her waist until their only standing a foot-length apart. "I sure hope so."

They're so close, standing out here in the middle of the sidewalk, noses bumping together every time Santana leans up on her tiptoes. "Yeah," she says, staring into blue eyes longingly." Me too."

Brittany smiles sadly and presses a soft kiss to Santana's nose. How she ever thought she could live without Santana, she'll never know. "After this weekend, we really need to talk, okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay," Brittany repeats, only because she really doesn't want to leave right now. She just wants to make all of this right before things get even more tangled and messy and dangerous.

In all honesty, Brittany's technically never had Santana, but somehow it feels like she's losing her. A love she has barely gotten time to experience is slipping right through her fingertips. People have called Brittany a lot of things in the past; stubborn, incompetent, hardheaded, but not once has she ever considered herself heartless.

She can feel it thumping in her chest right now, reminding her of how much she needs Santana in her life; not just somebody to hold at night, but somebody to hold for the rest of her life.

She can't let Santana go. No, not yet. And definitely not like this, so Brittany pulls Santana into her arms and holds on as tight as she can, inhaling the sweet scent of mango shampoo.

"See you on Saturday, baby," Santana whispers into her ear, sighing deeply as Brittany rakes her fingers through sleek, black hair.

"See you," she mumbles, pulling away slightly, but despite the hurt of their almost-breakup, Santana doesn't let her go.

Their eyes connect instantly, and Brittany thinks she's about to hear something she really doesn't want to hear, but her worrisome thoughts are cut short when Santana tilts her head up and presses a soft kiss to her lips.

(This kiss means everything, but at the same time, it feels a lot like goodbye.)


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So sorry for the delay. I hope this chapter makes up for it. This story should be completed in about three or four more chapters. I'm hoping to conclude it by the end of the summer, as well as my Quinntana fic, TCSMH. **

**At the end of this summer, I'll officially be a high school senior, so these two stories might be my last. I really want to concentrate on my studies this year, and fanfiction is kind of distracting, so. I might upload a one-shot every now and then, but for now, this will be my last story.**

**Thanks again for reading and reviewing ;) Your feedback is much appreciated!**

* * *

The car ride to Queens is mostly quiet other than the radio playing low in the background. Brittany doesn't recognize the song, so she remains quiet, tapping her thumb on the steering wheel every now and then to the beat.

Every time a song comes on that Santana knows, she unabashedly rocks out to it. Bobbing her head up and down, and pounding her fist against the roof of the car, Santana brings out her air-guitar and shreds on the imaginary strings.

Brittany knows what Santana's doing; she's trying to break the heavy tension that's been floating around for more than a few days now, and Brittany really appreciates it. No matter where they are in their relationship, something tense always seems to permeate around them.

(And it's kind of annoying.)

One minute, it's like they just _get_ each other; everything's grand; they're eye to eye; on the same page. Then the next, everything falls apart; a commercial about engagement rings come on while they're cuddling on the couch; a cute couple walks by, holding hands, softly whispering how much they love one another into each other's ear.

Brittany wants to say those three words so badly. Most of the time, they're right on the tip of her tongue. But before she can say them, she and Santana have to have that _talk_. Brittany doesn't even know how to start it. Honestly, she doesn't want to start it at all. There's this very irritating nagging in the back of her mind that keeps telling her that their _talk_ will indicate the beginning of the end.

They don't talk much as Brittany drives. For the last half hour, only slow love songs have been playing on the radio, so it seems Santana's done rocking out for now. They don't talk, because, well...there's not much to discuss. With her bare feet kicked up on the dashboard, Santana mentions something about her classes, and in response, Brittany talks a bit about work and how annoying Rachel has been as of late, and then complete silence.

They hit a fuckload of traffic on the Verrazano Bridge; the sound of beeping cars and enraged drivers masks the heaviness of their silence. Santana rolls down her window and sticks her head out to see what's causing all of the traffic, and Brittany swallows thickly and tosses on a pair of shades, unable to face the awkward silences.

All she can think about is their conversation the other day; how Santana accused her of cheating; how she doesn't want to get married; how they're going to have to _talk _about all of this when they get home.

It's completely messing with her head, and if she doesn't solve this problem soon, it's going to seriously start affecting her work.

Things between them have never felt this awkward before. Over the last three days, they've barely even talked. Brittany can't even blame it on their busy schedules anymore. There's this blatantly obvious wall stuck between them, and while Santana wants to climb over the wall, all Brittany wants to do is grab a jackhammer and destroy the damn thing.

(More than anything, Brittany hates _talks_.)

_Talks _mean vulnerability. _Talks _mean feelings. _Talks _mean opening up and releasing all of your inner thoughts, and ironically, Brittany doesn't like talking about her feelings and emotions, or what she's thinking every second of the day.

Santana's a pro at putting all of her insecurities about their relationship out there, always prepared to get hurt. She wears her heart on her sleeve, and that's one of the things Brittany loves about the college student, but Brittany isn't like that.

(Not even close.)

There has to be a reason why she's so closed off, so unable to show how much she cares. Brittany tries to look at the facts; she had a nice childhood; no one ever touched her inappropriately; her professional career is going swell; she has a fairly good relationship with her parents; her sister has always been there for her.

So, it seems, Brittany has no excuse for being so heartless. Maybe she's just more vulnerable or susceptible to getting her heart broken. She's never trusted anyone with her heart like this before, and honestly, it's a really scary thing to contemplate the thought that someone so wonderful and beautiful and kind actually loves _her_.

It's taken her awhile, but Brittany can now tell the difference between what she wants and what she needs. It's that yearning, that longing she feels, pulling her thumping heart in any direction Santana goes.

After awhile, their fingers naturally interlace like vines in a jungle over the center console. Santana's hands are warm and moist, like always. Most people would think it's gross, but Brittany finds comfort in this touch.

(She finds hope and love and strength in this touch.)

Their age gap keeps nagging her in the back of her mind, but when she really things about it, long and hard, Brittany recalls the words Santana said when they first started dating; something about being more into older women, meaning Santana could've definitely been with women well in their forties before, which, of course, makes her feel a little jealous, but there's also a pinch of relief in that mixture of emotions as well.

"The funniest thing happened the other night at Mike's house party," Santana speaks up after a whole half hour of silence.

It takes Brittany a moment to remember who Mike is. Santana has a lot more friends than Brittany, and sometimes it takes some thinking to recall who's who. Finally, it comes to her; Mike is Tina's boyfriend from dance class, or something like that.

Glancing out the side of her eye, Brittany smiles weakly before looking back at the road. "Yeah?" she says.

"Mhm," Santana confirms, rocking her head back and forth to the low music playing from the speakers. "This girl was like flirting with me like all night, and then at the end of the night she asked me out on like a date."

Each _like _that comes out of Santana's mouth stretches Brittany's smile wider and wider. It's no secret that the younger woman only ever talks this way when she's nervous or embarrassed about something, so sue Brittany for finding it a tad adorable.

"Is that so?" Brittany asks, playing along.

"Yeah," Santana nods, unconsciously fiddling with each one of Brittany's fingers. "And I told her no, of course, but then she wanted a reason."

"What did you tell her?"

"Well, she was like, do you have a girlfriend or something?" Santana says, mimicking the other woman's voice. "And I was like, not exactly, but, yeah, kinda. And she was like, so, that's a no? And I was like, it's a maybe."

The way Santana tells stories is kind of funny, and Brittany really wants to laugh at the awkward occurrence, but she does feel a little bad for causing Santana so much confusion on where they stand in their relationship.

"So," Brittany glances sideways and gently drags her thumb over the back of Santana's hand. "What ended up happening?"

Lolling her head sideways, Santana snorts in laughter, clearly amused, and says, "I guess she got annoyed with all of my avoidance techniques and went off to look for someone else to take home."

And this is where Brittany feels the worse. Yeah, she loves Santana, and of course it would totally hurt to see her with somebody else, but who is Brittany to keep Santana from enjoying her life, living her life with someone who could actually love her back and outwardly admit that she loves her back?

Brittany would say it; she wants to say it so bad, but she doesn't want to risk getting Santana's hopes up, just to crush them.

The only way Brittany could ever jump into an official relationship with Santana is if she knew the young woman was interested in getting married and/or raising a family with her, but those dreams are just totally absurd considering Santana's only twenty-one. Truthfully, their age gap wouldn't even be so much of a problem if Santana was just a few years older.

(So, here's big question; is Brittany willing to wait, even if she's really waiting for nothing?)

"I'm sorry for calling your sister a blonde whore," Santana mumbles against the glass of the window. "Please don't tell her I said that."

(Santana tells her everything, admits everything, and apologizes for _everything._ Why can't Brittany be more like her?)

"It's okay, San," Brittany reassures her, then teasingly adds, "And too late, I already told her."

Santana whips her head around, an expression of complete horror etched across her features. "Oh my God, _why?_" she whines, punching Brittany in the shoulder when the older woman starts laughing. "It's not funny, you loser. Now she'll hate me."

"She won't hate you," Brittany tells her, punching Santana back. "Jessie actually thought it was pretty funny."

The college student scoffs, unamused. "Ha ha, funny?" she asks, anxiously tapping her fingers on the center console. "Or murderous, rampage Joker, funny?"

Smiling sweetly, Brittany covers Santana's hand with her own and squeezes reassuringly. "Ha ha, funny," she claims, nodding insistently. "Definitely ha ha, funny."

Santana sighs in relief, resting her head back against the headrest.

"But you never know," Brittany continues teasingly, interlacing their fingers once again. "Jessie can be quite cynical at times. She's probably plotting out ways to execute you Joker style right this second."

Punching Brittany in the shoulder again, Santana rolls her eyes and says, "I'm in love with such a bitch," she sighs, shaking her head sadly. "I swear to God, how did this happen?"

If Brittany knew, they wouldn't be in this situation in the first place, so instead of an answer, she just pecks Santana on the cheek before the traffic starts moving again.

* * *

As crazy as it sounds, Brittany's never been to a high school football game before; not even when _she _was in high school. It's not that she was a loser or anything. It's just, her football team sucked. Every season, their team would only win about three or four games tops.

(No offence, but Brittany had better things to do with her time.)

She can't believe it.

She's actually about to meet Santana's family. Brittany's never met the parents of the people she's dated in the past, and apparently this is all new to Santana as well, considering the way the younger woman lets out a breath so long, Brittany's surprised she doesn't pass out.

As soon as she pulls into the parking lot near the football field, Brittany kills the engine, lets out an equally long breath of air, and stares forward.

"Okay," Santana sighs, slowly unbuckling her seatbelt, as if to delay the inevitable. "Here goes _everything_."

Brittany doesn't say anything. If she opened her mouth, she just might vomit. After checking her makeup one more time in the rearview mirror, Brittany nods to herself before reaching for the door.

"Before you get out," Santana speaks up suddenly. "Let me tell you about my family to avoid a reenactment of when you met Rudy."

Releasing the door handle, Brittany shifts in her seat and says, "Okay."

She has to admit, she _was_ pretty blindsided the other day when she met Rudy. Not that he's a bad person, though. Far from it. Sure, his personality could use a little work. And okay, he could also use a filter, but Brittany supposes his quirks and flaws are what make him Rudy in the first place.

"Let's start with Rudy," Santana mumbles, nervously curling her fingers around each other on top of her lap. "You've already met him. Maybe if he stays far enough away you won't have to meet him again." She peers through the window and points straight ahead. "That's his best friend, Vanessa. The one with the black hair standing in line at the concession stand?"

Brittany doesn't see her at first. Ducking her head, she has to squint her eyes through the glare of the sun. Finally, she spots the woman exactly where Santana said. From this distance, all Brittany can really see is her short black hair and thin figure.

"Rudy's always had a thing for her. Since like high school, I think," Santana shrugs. "But she doesn't like him back, so he sleeps with the whole town in order to fill the void."

A blonde eyebrow quirks in curiosity. "Why?"

"Don't ask _me_," Santana chuckles, shrugging a shoulder. "Maybe he wants to catch an STD or something. He's always been sick like that."

"No," Brittany laughs, shaking her head. "I mean, why doesn't she like him back?"

"Because she's smart?"

Santana lifts her eyebrows, as if it's a known fact no one could ever love Rudy. It makes Brittany kind of sad. She silently hopes Santana doesn't think that way about herself.

"So, Ricky," Santana continues, glancing out the window. "He's not the type of gay man you'll go shopping with, or get fashion advice from, or who listens to Cher."

(Vanessa, Rudy, Ricky. Got it.)

"He loves sports, eats like a barbarian, and releases gas like it's his occupation," Santana continues without missing a beat. "The closest thing to gay he's ever done is get a manicure. But that was because of a bet." She pauses to smirk. "I won."

Suddenly, Santana hops out of the car. Pulling her eyes out of the ignition, Brittany's quick to follow her through the parking lot and towards the front gate. Once she's paid for their tickets, Santana leads them to the railing near the football field, where there's a perfect view of the teams warming up.

"And that's Christian, my favorite," Santana says proudly, pointing him out. Number 5, it seems. Brittany can't see his face, but for sixteen, he's a pretty tall dude. "He's like the total opposite of Rudy. The sweetest teenager you'll ever meet. Except when we're playing Call of Duty. There's no room for sweets during war times."

Grabbing her hand, Santana leads her away from the bleachers. They walk in silence for awhile, and Brittany takes her time to look around at all of the teenagers dressed in their black and red school colors. The Red Devils mascot runs around somewhere the track in circles as a group of shirtless boys follow behind him with the letters _D-E-V-I-L _painted across their bare stomachs.

"And that's my mom on the bleachers," Santana says, breaking Brittany out of her sightseeing. "She'll probably just tell you to call her Lisa. And if she says you're really skinny, it's not a compliment. Just eat whatever she puts on your plate and everything should work out fine."

* * *

She meets Ricky first. There's a huge hotdog shoved in his mouth as they're approaching him, and curse mental images.

(She's going to be suffering from that one for awhile.)

He's exactly like Santana described him; outgoing, jovial, funny. If Rudy and Ricky didn't look alike, she'd never even suspect they were related because they're so freaking different.

Rudy is annoying and loud and offensive, while Ricky is just plain awesome. He even gives her a fist bump before walking off to find his friends, and it's the most awesome fist bump she's ever received.

(Other than the one's Santana has given her, of course.)

She meets Lisa second, an exact carbon copy of Santana, which is kind of weird, because is it normal to find your lover's mother attractive? Brittany doesn't think so, so instead of blurting it out to the world, Brittany decides to keep this tidbit of information to herself.

Lisa has a really strong handshake for such a tiny woman in her fifties. And if that isn't intimidating, her probing questions sure are; _How long have you been seeing my daughter? You didn't take her virginity, did you? Are you on any drugs or prescribed painkillers? How important is money to you? Are you afraid of ghosts? Have you ever been on the wrong side of the law? Do you read newspapers? Have you ever undergone therapy of any sort?_

Most of the questions don't even make sense or pertain to her in any way, but Santana and her mom seem to be enjoying the interrogation based on the identical smirks stretched across their faces, so Brittany just tries to play along, laughing and smiling at all the appropriate moments.

(The moments seem appropriate to Brittany, at least.)

Santana's mother seems to ask her _every _question in the book instead of the one Brittany's been expecting, which is, _"How old are you?"_ No one has asked her that. At all. Sure, Santana could've warned them beforehand, giving her family enough time to let it digest before meeting her, but Brittany doesn't think so.

It's the way they look at her, all accepting and whatnot. It makes Brittany believe they're just naturally understanding people.

(After all, you'd have to be an understanding person with two gay children.)

She meets Rudy third, which is mostly unnecessary, considering she's already met him. He's just as Rudy as he was before. His first and only comment is, "My sister's fucking a super model," which, ironically, was his first comment the last time they met.

This time, at least, he's not yelling it out to an entire restaurant, just to his high school pal, Josh or John, or something. With wide eyes, Josh or John stares at her, this weird look etched across his face, and Brittany kind of feels uncomfortable until Santana intertwines their fingers and starts pulling her in the opposite direction towards the concession stand.

Brittany meets Vanessa next. She's tall and thin and pretty with smooth skin and freckles, but Brittany immediately dislikes her, which is weird, because Brittany's not the type to judge someone before she even really knows them. It's just, Vanessa looks at Santana like she's some juicy steak, and it totally rubs Brittany the wrong way.

Everything Santana does, Vanessa reacts to it. If Santana tells a joke, she laughs like a hyena on steroids. If Santana bites into a hotdog, Vanessa just stares as if she's watching the sun explode. If Santana trips over her shoelaces, which surprisingly happens a lot, Vanessa is seemingly always there to catch her.

(And it's Brittany's job to catch Santana, not Vanessa's.)

"Where's your dad?" Brittany asks her, looking around a crowd of people standing near the concession stand. "He couldn't make it?"

Santana never gets the chance to answer, because suddenly a tall man with salt and pepper hair sneaks up behind her with a loud, "BOO!" Santana doesn't even flinch, just softly punches the man in his gut with a wide grin before introducing him to Brittany.

"This is my, my..." Santana stutters, trails off, pauses, then says, "This is Brittany."

The blonde tries not to cringe as she holds out her hand. "Hi, Mr. Lopez," she greets politely. "It's nice to finally meet you."

Completely ignoring her offered hand, the man grabs her arm and pulls her into the longest bear hug she's ever received in her entire life. "Please, call me Jeffrey," he says, withdrawing slightly with a cheeky grin. "Mr. Lopez was my father."

It's weird to Brittany; calling older people by their first names, but Santana does it, so Brittany figures it can't be too hard. She's only ever called her parents mom and dad, never Harriet and Joe. Her parents would have probably killed her if she tried to call them by their first names. Even now, being almost thirty years old, her parents would still totally kill her.

Once the game is about to start, they're both cuddled together on the bleachers to fight the slight chill in the air, and Brittany finally gets a chance to whisper, "I think Vanessa's into you."

Apparently this statement is incredibly hilarious by the way Santana throws her head back and snorts in amusement.

Cocking her head sideways, Brittany narrows her eyes and says, "I'm serious. She's totally into you."

"Brittany," Santana sighs in the way that makes Brittany feel like she's being silly, "Vanessa's been my brother's best friend forever. She does _not _like me. She and I are practically cousins. That's like incest or something."

"Except it's not, because she's technically _not _your cousin."

Instead of a response, all Brittany receives is a super loud, _"That's my brother!" _screamed into her ear. Santana's up on her feet, clapping and shouting as the football teams run out onto the field.

Deciding to worry about it later, Brittany focuses her eyes on the game, and maybe she should have gone to at least _one _football game in high school, because she literally has no idea what's happening.

A bunch of boys run back and forth, throw and catch this pointy, brown ball every now and then, and sometimes people even cheer when a scrawny player kicks the pointy, brown ball through these tall, yellow poles. Santana moderates the whole game, so thankfully Brittany doesn't really need to know what's happening anyway.

"My grandma can throw farther than that!"Santana hollers at her own brother.

Incredulous, Brittany laughs at how red Santana's face is from yelling. Everyone seems to be staring at them, even Santana's mother who is sitting a few seats in front of them beside Vanessa. When Brittany catches her eye, she mouths, _Help me, _though Lisa's only response is, a mouthed, _No way._

"Step on his face! Step on his face!" Santana yells, whenever the opposing quarterback gets sacked, which happens a lot throughout the game. Also, she shouts, _"Hey, ref, get off your knees, you're blowing the game," _every time the men in those black and white pinstripes blows their whistle or throw out a yellow flag.

Although Brittany doesn't really understand what any of these phrases mean, her favorite has to be the chants where Santana sings, loud and proud, _"Na na na na, na na na na, hey, hey, goodbye..."_ near the end of the game.

Sure, Brittany might have a slight migraine in the back of her head as she's descending the bleachers after the game has finally ended, but she's with Santana, looking at Santana, smiling at Santana, holding Santana's hand as the younger woman goes on and on about how, _"That Larson kid needs to fucking block his man a'fores I ends him," _but it's the most adorable New York accent Brittany's ever heard, so.

(Whatcha gonna do?)

* * *

Hours later, when they're all back at the house Santana grew up in, Brittany's still expecting somebody to comment on their very obvious age difference, but everyone just acts like it's normal and watches the football game in the living room.

(Yes. _Another _football game.)

She's sitting in between Christian and Rudy. They both kind of smell. Christian, Brittany thinks, has an excuse for smelling like he just rolled around in sweat and dirt for three hours, because, well, he did. But Rudy smells like that too, and Brittany's pretty sure all he's done today is unknowingly offend a group of strangers rooting for the opposing team.

She can feel herself sinking deeper and deeper into the couch every time Christian shifts forward, reaching for the bowl of nachos on the coffee table. Yelling and hollering comes from all directions as they watch _another _football game on the tube.

Most of the yelling and hollering is directed at Ricky, who insists on standing right in front of the television. Brittany doesn't really mind, considering she doesn't understand the game of football anyway, but every time Ricky mistakenly drifts back to his spot in front of the flatscreen, Santana pelts him with a throw pillow, yelling, "Your mother wasn't a glassmaker."

For some reason, Christian seems to love that joke, because every time Santana yells it, which is a lot, he starts laughing so hard, nacho chips fly out of his mouth and into his lap. Narrowing her eyes, Brittany can't help but laugh, especially when Christian blushes in embarrassment.

According to Santana, every time the Giants play the Eagles, Jeffrey throws on his favorite Eli Manning football jersey, and apparently today is no exception. Every time the Giants score a homerun, or slam dunk, or whatever it's called, Jeffrey chest bumps every single person in the living room, women included.

And Jeffrey's a pretty big man, so whenever it's Brittany's turn for a chest bump, she quickly stands up, sucks in a deep breath, and clenches her eyes shut, praying it's not as hard as the last one.

Santana likes the chest bumps the most out of everyone. As soon as a Giants' touchdown is scored, Santana's out of her seat and in front of Jeffrey, yelling and hollering,

a) "We're destroying their asses!"

b) "Let's make the Eagles cry!"

c) "Bunch of pussies!"

d) "Blaine's gonna owe me fifty bucks!"

or,

e) All of the above

The couch bounces up and down, up and down, as Christian and Rudy cheer and high-five and chest bump, and why is she sitting _here_ of all places? The kitchen seems like a much safer place, so that's where Brittany goes.

(Besides, it may be a good idea to start chatting up Santana's mom.)

Except her plan backfires, because right when she enters the kitchen, Vanessa's dark, dark browns find Brittany's light, light blues and stare, long and hard. Unaware of the obvious tension between the two young women, Lisa invites Brittany into the kitchen to help finish cooking dinner.

Vanessa doesn't say too much as Brittany joins in, just follows Lisa's instructions on how to season the chicken. Once she puts the tray into the oven, Vanessa stalks out of the kitchen with this dark stare, and Brittany shivers with the feeling a demon is amongst them.

Throughout the day, Vanessa's been blatantly checking Santana out, leaving fleeting touches on her shoulder, and making sly remarks that no one seems to notice but Brittany.

(And no, this isn't just all in her head.)

She's not blind. Brittany knows flirting when she sees it. Earlier in the day, she even confronted Santana about it, but the young woman had just laughed it off, the thought of Vanessa being gay totally out of the realm of possibilities.

Now that it's just her and Santana's mother in the kitchen, Brittany thinks they're about to have _the talk, _because this would just be the perfect opportunity, but instead Lisa talks about something else; something deep and heartbreaking and kind of enlightening.

Lowering her voice, Lisa peeks outside the kitchen door before whispering, "Santana was really closed off in high school after her father left."

Something unnerving lodges itself into Brittany's throat as she tries to swallow this idea; the idea of Santana as a little girl having to hear her parents fight and argue while she cries at the top of the steps. The idea of Santana as a little girl, waking up in the middle of the night with the sound of a car driving off, never to return. The idea of Santana, the only girl in the family, having to suck up her pride and act strong in front of her brothers.

"I'm glad Santana found you," Lisa continues, resting her hand on Brittany's shoulder with a comforting squeeze. "Now she can just be herself and learn how to love again."

Now it all makes sense; why Santana's so anti-marriage, why she seems so against the idea of making promises. Biting her lower lip, Brittany tries to remember everything Santana's ever said, trying to look for a specific sign that could've prepared her for this realization.

"Her Uncle Jeffrey helped me raise them for awhile, but I can tell her father's absence still affects her," Lisa expresses, shaking her head with a sad smile. "Santana doesn't like to talk about it very much. She's always been-"

"Are you insane? Should have thrown it, you moron. Sacks are for penises, not Giants!"

"-a little eccentric," Lisa settles on, raising her eyebrows. "But don't let her easygoing nature fool you. She was always good at hiding how she felt with an easy smile. She'd have bad days when something would remind her of her father. Highs and lows, we called them. I'm just happy she has you, sweetie."

Wiping her sticky fingers on a hand towel, Brittany peers up at Lisa's warm eyes and smiles the best she can. "I'm happy to have her, too," she says, and absolutely means it.

* * *

If watching the Giants football game is World War I, then dinner is totally World War Z. All of the food is set out in bowls on the table, and after a quick prayer where everyone holds hands around the table to bless the food, chaos ensues. Growing up with only one other sibling in the house and two lackluster parents, dinnertime was never really an interesting occurrence.

But here in the Lopez house, it's every man for themselves. Once everybody mutters _Amen _all hell breaks loose as the men at the table race to grab the nearest serving spoon. Sitting beside her, Santana fights to retrieve the biggest chicken wing she can find, and Brittany watches, fearful for Santana's fingers.

Unable to control her blushing, Brittany totally turns pink when the younger woman sets the chicken wing on _her _plate instead of her own.

It's the small things that make a difference. It's the small things that make Brittany swoon like a lovesick child, and when Santana shoots her that shy grin before digging into a bowl of macaroni, Brittany is surer than ever that she's in love with his girl.

(Who would've thought, right?)

The only people who aren't going crazy over the food like a bunch of starved wildebeest is Vanessa, Lisa, and, of course, Brittany. After awhile, the craziness of war dies down, and that's when the _Ask Brittany whatever you want _portion of the night takes place. She doesn't really mind much. It feels kind of nice to get all this positive attention from Santana's family/envious glares from Vanessa.

Surprisingly, Santana answers half of the questions for her anyway, which really kind of turns her on, knowing Santana actually listens to her during their pillow talks, actually listens to her when they chat on the phone at all hours of the night.

By the time dinner is over, Brittany is so stuffed, she can barely stand. Santana half carries, half drags her to the couch before disappearing to go use the restroom. Rudy must hate her, because once she's sitting comfortably on the couch, he turns on _another _football game.

Christian is seated beside her as soon as he learns the Ravens are playing, followed by Ricky with a bag of chips; sour cream and onion, as well as Doritos. Brittany's so stuffed, she doesn't even want to smell the snack, but she ends of getting a whiff of it anyway when Christian starts yelling at the television in Spanish.

(Bad breath is death.)

Shooting up from the couch, Brittany leaves the living room in search for Santana. There has to be a better place than the living room.

(There has to be.)

Just as she's rounding a corner to find this better place, Brittany spots Santana heading down the hallway in her direction, her face totally flushed and pale, looking as if she's going to be sick.

"San?" Brittany murmurs, concerned, taking the younger woman's hands in hers. "You look like you saw a ghost."

"You were right," is all Santana says, rolling her eyes in frustration. "Fuck, you were right."

"You're gonna have to narrow it down a bit. I'm usually right about most things, so..." Brittany tries to joke, tugging Santana further down the hallway so they can get some privacy in the kitchen.

Despite herself, Santana cracks a smile as she leans against the kitchen counter. "You were right about Vanessa."

Narrowing her eyes, Brittany shakes her head and whispers, "What d'you mean?"

(Though she already has a clue as to what Santana's referring to.)

"She _does _like me," Santana admits, darting her eyes around the kitchen, as if someone's eavesdropping on their conversation. "She likes me...like _that_. She _totally _came on to me." Stressing her point, Santana wiggles her eyebrows, and Brittany's not sure if she wants to laugh or punch that damn broad in the face.

More than anything, Brittany wants to shout, _I told you so, I told you so, _but instead, what comes out is a rushed, "How do you...wait, what happened?"

"I was walking down the hallway on my way to the bathroom when she just popped out of nowhere and wouldn't let me pass," Santana begins to explain, running a hand through her hair. "I really had to pee, so when I tried to squeeze through, she rested her hand on my shoulder and said, '_those jeans look so hot on you'._"

"Then what happened?" Brittany asks, furrowing her eyebrows in irritation.

"Then she walked off." Santana shakes her head in disbelief. "And she totally compliments me on my clothes all of the time, but today it just felt so, I don't know...flirtatious?"

Narrowing her eyes in anger, all Brittany can do is stare forward at nothing in particular and search for the right words. "That..." she trails off.

(Bitch? Cunt? Homewrecker?)

She can't decide. She can't fucking decide.

"It's just...weird," Santana continues, plopping down at the kitchen table. "I guess I feel kinda guilty."

"Babe, I'm not mad at you," Brittany reassures her. "I know you didn't do anything."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Santana gives Brittany a strange look. "I was talking about Rudy," she clarifies, to which Brittany nods dumbly. "He's loved Vanessa his whole life. She's my brother's best friend. I just...I don't know."

Confused, Brittany slowly takes a seat in the chair beside Santana. "Wait, you're not actually considering being with her, are you?"

"If I was, would you be mad?" Santana asks, and it's really hard to tell if she's joking right now. "I mean, we're _technically _not dating."

Something in her chest hurts; Brittany's not really sure what it is, but the feeling makes her upset. "Yes, I would be mad," she exasperates, arching a brow. "Very, very mad."

Amused, Santana snorts. "Your honesty and possessiveness stimulates me."

There's a short pause, where all Brittany can do is stare. Santana stares back, with this dorky, lopsided smile, and Brittany can't help but laugh.

"That strange comment aside..." Brittany eyes the quirk of Santana's lips and hesitantly asks, "You don't really like her, do you?"

"Like I've said a million times, I love _you_," Santana says earnestly, picking up their joining hands to plant a soft kiss over Brittany's smooth knuckles. "_Only_ you. I'm just...worried about my brother."

* * *

It doesn't feel good to have somebody else's eyes on the person you love. Brittany knows this feeling better than anyone. With the attention span of a gnat, Santana's seemed to have forgotten all about what happened in the hallway as she plays Call of Duty with her brothers.

(But Brittany hasn't.)

Vanessa, sipping from a beer on the porch, casts longing glances into the living room every now and then, right at Santana. After awhile, Brittany just can't take it anymore. She's hidden this little green monster for way too long, and she's not going to hold it in anymore.

When Brittany steps out onto the back porch, she immediately remembers what she forgot. A jacket. It's still pretty early in the fall, but it's cold nonetheless. The leaves on the trees have already started falling, so she guesses that's enough validation for the weather to get cold now.

The only light illuminating the porch is the light hanging from the awning, and it kind of sucks how pretty Vanessa's features look in the shadows of the night.

Vanessa knows Brittany's standing beside her. She can tell by the way Vanessa sips from her beer faster, by the way her posture stiffens, by the way she tucks her left hand into her pocket, warming it up just in case some slapping needs to take place.

"So, you're into Santana."

The best way to approach these kind of things is to just blurt it out. There's no point in dancing around the subject, because that's how people get confused and angry and frustrated.

Vanessa just laughs, continuing to drain her bottle of beer for the sole purpose of escaping conversation. Rolling her eyes, because what a stupid avoidance tactic, Brittany leans against the railing on the porch so that they're now face to face.

"Why now? You've known her for _how _long and you wait until I come along to hit on her?" Brittany wonders aloud, narrowing her eyes, because it just doesn't make any sense to her.

Again, Vanessa laughs under her breath, and Brittany briefly wonders if this chick is drunk or something. "Oh, don't be so conceited. I've been flirting with Santana for years," Vanessa reveals, shrugging a careless shoulder. "I guess she just didn't notice until someone blatantly pointed it out to her."

Unprepared for such an honest response, Brittany kind of just stares at Vanessa's sharp features, stares at her dark, dark eyes. "Well, stay away from her," Brittany warns, narrowing her eyes threateningly "She's mine." The warm blood that floods through her veins when she says these words are addicting.

(She almost repeats them, just to get that feeling again.)

Scoffing, Vanessa folds her arms over her chest. "She's _yours_? So, now you're conceited _and _possessive. Not very attractive traits there."

"At least I'm not a cowardice girlfriend stealer," Brittany bites back.

"Girlfriend?" Vanessa chuckles, shaking her head. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. You're not her girlfriend. You both made it very clear numerous times that you're nothing but friends with benefits."

(Okay, _that _kind of stings.)

"We're not friends with benefits," Brittany states, her voice rising a little louder than it should. Clearing her throat, she quickly composes herself to say, "We're dating, and Santana loves me."

"Yeah, of course she does," Vanessa responds in that _yeah, sure _tone. "But since you're not official, I saw no reason why a little harmless flirting should be bad."

"Well, it is bad," Brittany says, trying to stay calm. "Apparently Rudy loves you or something. Isn't he supposed to be your best friend?"

Vanessa doesn't respond at first. Brittany watches and waits as the other woman flares her nostrils and lets out a breath of air. "Rudy's going nowhere in life. Hell, I'm pretty sure he has a few illegitimate kids running around this town," she says, shrugging a shoulder.

Brittany can't understand how anyone can talk about their best friend in that way. She'd never in a million years say anything like that about Quinn. Just the thought of speaking ugly behind someone's back makes her sick to her stomach.

(_Vanessa _makes her sick to her stomach.)

"But Santana's a catch, anyone can see that. Law school student, extremely smart and sexy, on her way to bigger and better things-" she gives Brittany a look "-and will probably be rich as hell once she graduates." Running a hand through her short, brown locks, Vanessa looks at Brittany as if she shouldn't have to tell her how great Santana is. "If you're not smart enough to realize that, you don't deserve her."

Out of everything, those words hit the hardest. Brittany opens her mouth to rebuttal, though all that escapes her lips is warm air. Pinching her lips together, Vanessa just shakes her head before ducking back into the house, leaving Brittany to rethink everything she thought she's always known.

* * *

It's pitch black outside by the time they get back on the road to drive home. It was an exhausting day full of football games and understanding and food and Call of Duty.

Just like the ride to Queens, it's mostly quiet between them on the way back to Manhattan. Since Brittany drove up, Santana's driving them back, eyes glued tightly to the road. Before they left, Santana's mom insisted her daughter have a full cup of coffee.

Just by looking at Santana's blown pupils, Brittany already knows the younger woman's going to be up all night long.

Driving at night has always been so settling to Brittany's nerves and anxiety, but not tonight. She can't stop looking at Santana every few minutes. Not to check up on her or anything, because of course she's still there if the car is still on the road, but sometimes Brittany just likes to look at her.

(And she's not being creepy or anything. She's just simply admiring.)

Looking out her window, time seems to stop as cars zoom back and forth past them on both sides of the roads; red lights on the left, white lights on the right. The lights are so beautiful, just like Santana; just like her smile, her eyes, her nose, her ears, her lips.

Everything about Santana is beauty and love and hope, and sure, she's unconventional, some may even say weird, but in this moment, all Brittany wants is to tell Santana how much she loves all of these things about her, so she does.

"Santana..."

"Mhm," she answers, darting her eyes in Brittany's direction before focusing them back on the road.

Staring forward, Brittany twiddles her thumbs around and around in her lap. "I, um..." she murmurs, clearing her dry throat.

"Don't tell me you have to use the bathroom, Britt," Santana chuckles, glancing out the side of her eye. "I told you to go before we left."

"No, no, I don't have to pee. I just..." she trails off, knocking her knuckles against the window. "I need to tell you something."

Over her words, Santana honks the horn when an SUV cuts her off. "What the hell, you fucking moron." She mumbles something under her breath and rolls her eyes. "Sorry about that. Uh-huh, go ahead."

"I..." Brittany winces at her inability to speak proper English. It's the only language she knows; you'd think she could at least speak it correctly. "I had a really good time today."

Santana smiles at her, all endearing and cute, before looking back at the road. "Yeah, me too."

"And I love you."

It kind of comes out like a hiccup. Brittany screws her face up into a grimace, because what the hell? It wasn't supposed to sound like that.

Continuing to stare forward, Santana slowly arches a brow and whispers, "Whoa, that was weird."

Brittany looks at Santana out of the corner of her eye. "What's weird?"

"I think..." she begins, slamming the palm of her hand against her right ear over and over again. "I think I'm starting to hear things."

Brittany cracks a smile. "Babe, you're not hearing things," she tells her, shifting sideways in her seat. "I said it."

Silence follows, and Brittany holds her breath. It feels like her whole life has lead up to this moment. Santana's grip on the steering wheel tightens. "You said..._it_?" she asks quietly, her question just barely audible.

But Brittany hears it. She hears it loud and clear. "I said it," she repeats, smiling from ear to ear, because who knew it'd feel so much better to say those three words than it is to hear them? "And I really, really mean it."

Santana just continues to stare forward as she merges lanes, parks on the shoulder, and turns on her hazards. "You love me?" she asks, sounding kind of surprised and urgent all at the same time. "Like, real love?"

Nodding furiously, Brittany smiles and whispers, "Yeah, like, real love."

(Here goes nothing.)

"I'm in love with you, San," she says, and it feels like a huge balloon popping in her chest. For months, it's felt like she couldn't breathe correctly, and every time Santana would say the words _I love you, _breathing would just get harder and harder. Now, finally, she can breathe again, and it feels even better than when she first stopped.

There's a pause where Santana just stares at her in skeptical shock. Brittany can breathe again, sure, but it looks like Santana's stopped inhaling all together. There are tears in her big brown eyes, and Brittany tries to smile the best she can, to reassure Santana that this is real; that everything Brittany's feeling in this moment is real love.

To ease the heavy tension, Brittany holds Santana's hands in a tight grasp and whispers, "I've never been in love before. You, like, took my falling in love virginity or something."

Santana chuckles through her tears, and Brittany can't help kiss each one of Santana's knuckles individually, her blue eyes never wavering from Santana's deep browns.

"I love the way you blink your eyes. I love the way you fall asleep; slow and then all at once. I love the way you snore and mumble in your sleep," Brittany rambles, ducking her head shyly when Santana smiles at her like she's the best thing that's ever happened to her. "I love your offensive jokes. I love your kind heart. I just love _you_."

"You love me..."

(Santana says it almost like she doesn't believe it.)

Brittany wants her to believe it so much she leans forward and kisses her, once and hard, pressing their lips together, exhaling through her nose, because this is how it feels to breathe.

Against Santana's plump lips, Brittany mumbles, "I think I've been in love with you this whole time, I just." She pauses, she constructs the right words, and finally she concludes, "I was scared. And I guess I'm still scared, but the fear isn't a bad thing. It's kind of exciting, actually. Just, the unknown and everything. You know the feeling?"

Santana nods frantically, excitement written all over her features. "Yeah, yeah, I know," she rushes to say, planting kiss after kiss against Brittany lips as she slyly crawls over the center console. "It's amazing, right?"

"Totally," Brittany agrees, leaning back in her seat as Santana settles into her lap. Smooth hands tickle up her neck and into her hair. Placing hungry lips against Santana's skin, she kisses up and down her neck until Santana's shivering against her, and grinding, and undulating against her.

Running her hands up Brittany's shirt, Santana moans deep in her throat, and Brittany whimpers against her pulse as soon as warm fingers find her bra, cupping her breasts in appreciation. "Say it again," she whispers against Brittany's swollen lips.

"Totally."

"No..." she giggles and shifts in Brittany's lap. "You know what I mean."

Brittany smirks, burying her face deep into Santana's lovely locks, and she inhales, because Santana smells so good. "I love you," she repeats, tickling her fingers up and down, up and down Santana's jean-clad thighs, and now Brittany's wondering to herself, why is Santana still wearing her jeans?

"I love you too." Santana smiles giddily, and life definitely would have been a lot easier if Brittany just got everything off her chest in the first place. Resting her forehead against Brittany's shoulder, Santana giggles maniacally and whispers, "Fuck, I love adding that _too _at the end. I want to say it forever."

"You should."

"I should?"

"Mhm," Brittany hums in content, placing soft kisses against Santana's lips, because they're so soft, like a pillow, like clouds, like puppies, like marshmallows, like anything soft, really.

It's dark, and the only thing surrounding them is the red and white lights of the cars zooming past, back and forth, back and forth, and somehow it's magical.

Brittany's always believed in fate and love at first sight and destiny, so she might as well add magic to that long list as well, because kissing the girl she loves, at night, in a car, on the highway, has to be nothing else but magic.

(It has to be.)


End file.
